The Butterfly Effect
by dirge
Summary: It began with a game...
1. t.he elephant game

**The Butterfly Effect**

by dirge [ dirge@punkass.com ]

**TIMELINE:** Takes place in vol. 38 of the manga, post-Jusendo, but before the attempted wedding. Assuming the series runs roughly 18 months (as opposed to just a year), Akane, Ranma & everyone their age range would be placed roughly at 17 & change, Nabiki 18 and Kasumi 20. Most of the background items will be based on (rather poorly) translated Chinese versions of the manga, since I've only seen a handful of episodes.

**DISCLAIMER:** The characters within Ranma 1/2 are the property of Rumiko Takahashi. No infringement is intended and no money is being made off this work. Parts of this fic pay homage to the novels of Jin Yong, specifically Xiao Ao Jianghu and Xiake Xing, as well as Plato's Symposium (the speech of Aristophanes), and are recurring themes.

**RATING:** PG now, R in later chapters.

**NOTES:** First fic. C&C appreciated.

**SUMMARY:** It started off with a game . . .

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.1]**

=====----=====-----====----====

It never ceased to amaze Ryoga Hibiki after the sun set, how quickly night would creep in and blot out China's countryside like a giant overturned inkwell. 

The lost boy leaned back against the thatched roof of the inn idly watching the stars crawl across the weary and somnolent sky. It had been four days since his companions left Jusenkyo, and he had elected to stay behind just in case the floods receded.

At least that was what he told the group of wayward martial artists - two girls, a panda, a cat and a duck, the day they rolled out of the valley, their belongings packed on a bicycle and cart. Mousse and Shampoo, at least, seemed to have understood.

Two days passed and the rains hadn't ceased. On the third day, Ryoga departed. Actually, he'd been looking for the bathroom in the Jusenkyo guide's house, took a long left somewhere and ended up . . . he reckoned he was at least still somewhere within the Tarim Basin. 

Though he didn't think he'd be able to find his way back to Jusenkyo any time soon, he wasn't exactly in a hurry to return to Nerima either. He didn't want to face *them*, seeing them together. He'd lost Akane just as surely as he lost her picture to the well in Jusendo and-- aw, who was he kidding? In order to lose somebody you had to have *had* them in the first place. 

What would she need him for, when she had the hero?

Ranma. Always Ranma.

And as always, through an immense amount of luck and a little skill, the great Ranma Saotome had stumbled through another crisis and come out on top once again.

The hero always got the girl.

Wasn't that was how it always went?

Glumly, Ryoga realized, he would never be the hero of any story. After all, what kind of hero couldn't find his way out of a room with one door? Or turned into a helpless little (if rather cute) pig every time it rained? 

In the end, no one would remember that he was the one who pulled Ranma out of Saffron's threads.

Because he just wasn't hero material.

"It's not fair!" he shouted to the unresponsive sky.

"What's not fair?"

Ryoga sat up, whipping his head towards the source of the query. He hadn't even noticed the arrival of the stranger on the roof. Sitting down about ten feet away was an older man, perhaps mid-to-late twenties, dressed in an array of clothing that appeared to be a hodgepodge of red, blue and gray-dyed swathes of batik. An intricate, gold braided belt circled his waist, and from it hung a rigid fan that bore the symbol of a crescent and a circle side by side, and a small decorative gourd. "Mind if I join you?" The accent was strange, even for this region. The lost boy shrugged and the stranger pried the lid off the jug, then offered it to him.

The strong whiff of alcohol assailed Ryoga's nose and he shook his head.

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking?"

"Probably. It's never stopped me before." He took a long drink, then lay back against the thatching and sighed. "So, what sort of misfortune were you cursing the heavens for?" 

Ryoga pulled his knees in under his chin. "It's nothing."

"Does it have to do with a girl?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"No." The stranger tapped a rhythm with his fingers on the husk of the gourd. "It just usually is the case."

====----====----[ **t.he elephant game **]----====----====

It was, upon closer inspection, just a letter.

Delivered with all the necessary pomp and circumstance as only a two-foot arrow could, its still-quivering shaft decorated the wall of the Tendo household a scant two and a half inches away from Saotome Ranma's twitching right eye. That being said, despite its somewhat obtrusive (and nearly fatal) nature, it was still a remarkably well mannered missive.

A civilized one even, insofar as challenges went, considering that as most would attest, the more common method usually consisted of little more than some variation on the shouted epithet of "Ranma! Prepare to die!" accompanied by a shattered wall or floor or a multitude of sharp projectiles. No, this time the destruction was minimal, negligible even (though that slight crack in the wall where the arrow shaft was still vibrating would have to be spackled over later).

Nevertheless, by the sheer weight of comparison, the letter of intent to cause grevious bodily harm to its intended recipient, with its bold-yet-intriguingly-artistic brush strokes on the envelope, could almost be considered . . . 'polite,' even if it did disrupt dinner time at the Tendos.

"Who is it now?" sighed the much put-upon heir to the aforementioned dojo, as she lowered her chopsticks to the table. Akane Tendo supposed it would have been too much of a good thing to expect the inactivity following their return from Jusendo to last much longer. After all, a whopping two days of relative normality passing without serious repercussions was . . . well, abnormal, and this particular spot in Nerima couldn't possibly attract more activity if someone painted a giant bullseye on the roof and plugged in a sign that spelled out 'Chaos park here, leave your keys with Kasumi' in giant pink neon letters below.

Without missing a beat, the eldest Tendo daughter pried the arrow from the wall and cheerfully carried it over to the hall closet. There, she opened the door and placed the weapon on a shelf where it accompanied nine more of its kind, a pile of chains, sixteen throwing knives, a pair of steel claws, thirty-two spotted bandannas, four umbrellas, a length of ribbon, a bonbori with a missing head and a giant spatula with a face-shaped dent in it.

With the letter firmly in hand, she glided back to the dinner table where, prepared to hand it over to the pigtailed boy, she paused in reading and, rather predictably uttered:

"Oh! It's a challenge letter."

Ranma, in a rather impressive display of multitasking, negligently raised one hand to accept the envelope while the other holding chopsticks battled with Genma over the contents of his bowl. After all, a fight was a fight, but sukiyaki was special.

"Just the salient information: time, place and opponent," drawled Nabiki, her recently-acquired handheld ever at ready, stylus poised to strike. The perfect merger of opportunism and high-technology, her newest toy might as well have been permanently fused to her hand. If she could have married her Palm Pilot, she would have. "Betting pools don't materialize by themselves you know."

"It's just . . . " Kasumi hedged.

"What is it this time? Princes from some piddly island? Dragons? Demigods? Pissed off fiances? That's going to up the odds a bit," the girl muttered, tapping the screen of the PDA.

She handed Nabiki the envelope. "It's for you."

Well. 

That certainly was different. Though she would never admit it, Nabiki felt a slight twinge of concern about the contents of a letter that came yea close to leaving a particularly nasty paper cut had it been aimed just a quarter-foot closer to the left. 

On the other hand, _she_ hadn't been the one nearly perforated, so wasn't TOO worried.

Left eyebrow raised, she tore into the letter and came up with a fourteen page novella. 

Akane peered over her shoulder. "Is it Kinnosuke again?" 

"Can't be. It's not postage-due."

Ranma, in belated surprise over not being the main focus of hostilities this time, made a major tactical blunder and blinked. In that moment, his father seized several pieces of beef from his bowl.

A splash later, a tearful panda was attempting to manipulate chopsticks much too small for its chunky paws.

"It's all in Kanji," Nabiki frowned. "No, wait. I don't recognize some of these characters."

She flipped through the first few sheets as the rest of the family crowded around behind her in various stages of rubberneck, offering their typically insightful commentary.

"Looks Chinese to me." 

['Whoa, big print'], came a raised sign.

"Those letters must be at least an inch high."

"It does explain why the thing's so long." 

"Who would bother to write in such large . . . "

Everyone snapped their fingers, simultaneously arriving at the same conclusion.

"Mousse!"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

In the kitchen of the Nekohanten, an Amazon paused in the middle of scrubbing a particularly nasty spot out of a wok and cocked his head to the side.

"What is it?" Cologne queried, more out of habit than any real concern.

Mousse shook his head. "I thought I heard something."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"So whadja do this time?" Figuring he'd displayed the obligatory amount of concern, Ranma returned to higher priorities and shoveled down a mouthful of rice. "Cheat him outta somefin'?"

A crease arched between the middle Tendo daughter's eyebrows as she mentally reviewed books, ledgers and the contents of her desk calender over the past three months . . . and still came up short. 

"Not lately." 

"Maybe he's holdin' a grudge."

She processed back further, then shook her head.

"You must have done something to get his dander up," Akane pressed.

"I swear, I didn't do anything." Nabiki rubbed her temples in frustration.

"Sure ya didn't." 

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"So where were you earlier this evening, Mr. Part-Time?"

"I had to make a delivery, dried up old--OW!" Mousse rubbed his head as the end of Cologne's staff bounced off his cranium.

"Did your 'delivery' just-so happen to pass by a certain dojo?"

He shrugged, wiping down a table. "It might have."

"I don't understand why you're so insistent on a confrontation with the Tendo girl," the Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku sighed.

"I simply can't let this pass. You of all people should understand that."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"I said, I ain't going," Ranma declared loudly, as he bit down on a senbei for effect, emphatically ignoring the pleas coming from around the room.

Well, actually, Kasumi frowned, Mr. Tendo's tongue started forking in precursor to a rapid head inflation, Nabiki began to vocally tally up his debts and the panda was playing with a beach ball, wisely staying out of any family disputes.

Finally, Akane stood. "Come on, oneechan." She shot Ranma a dirty look. "I'll go with you," before walking her older sister out the door.

He snorted and another three rice crackers flew down his throat.

Stupid tomboy. Always sticking her nose in other people's business even when it didn't concern her. He *supposed* Akane might be somewhat perturbed if any physical harm came to her older sister over whatever grudge Mousse had against Nabiki. And then the macho chick would get it into that idiot head of hers that she could take him on, and there'd be Shampoo there, and maybe even the old ghoul, and then she'd trip or miss or do something stupid and get hurt and . . .

Aw, hell.

"Hey, wait up." He bounced to his feet and trotted after the two girls.

Not that he cared or anything.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"He was always cruel to her," Ryoga muttered, looking down at his palms as if he were trying to divine the elemental within the well-worn pattern of creases. "Calling her names. Deriding her. Stringing along all those other girls." 

"Sounds like a real jerk."

"Class-A. He didn't deserve her, she deserved better, someone who would treat her nice, who would treasure her . . . " The lost boy trailed off.

"Someone like you?"

He looked down. "Maybe."

"Did you love her?"

"She was beautiful, sweet, innocent, gentle and pure . . . "

"Sounds like a real bore." The stranger gave him a sideways glance. "You didn't answer my question."

"Yes. Yes I did love her. But it doesn't matter. She never saw me that way. It was always about _him_."

"Then perhaps she wasn't your other half." Off the lost boy's puzzled look, the stranger swished the contents thoughtfully around. "Would you like to hear a story?"

Ryoga rubbed at his face absently, shrugged, then nodded.

The older man took another long drink from his wine gourd, then began.

"'Once there were three sexes of humankind. Each four hands, four legs, and two faces on one head. One was male on both sides, one female, and one both male and female.

They were smart and strong, and the gods were desperately afraid they would storm heaven and wrest control from them. They could destroy these insolent creatures, but then who would worship and fear them?

One of the gods finally decided to cripple these insolent creatures by splitting them right down the middle. Four hands became two, as did four legs, and four eyes. What was originally two became one. These halves wandered the earth, looking for the other half of their selves, so they could be one again.'

Tell me . . . "

"Ryoga."

"Ryoga. Do you think that if there were no 'Saotome' around, this girl, would she would have loved you back?"

"Yes! Maybe." He sighed. "I don't know. But at least I would have tried to make her happy."

A shadow of something ugly crossed the stranger's face before settling back into a neutral expression. "Love isn't about happiness. It was created to keep us in line and make us miserable."

Th lost boy sat there, staring into the pitch, before attempting to swallow with a very dry throat.

"I . . . I think maybe I will have that drink."

The other man smirked slighly and tossed him the gourd.

Ordinarily, Ryoga would have caught such an object without a problem. However, distraction played a large part in his fumbling with the object as it arced in the air towards him. The lost boy grabbed it by the edge of the lid, accidently snapping it off, and looked up in horror as the contents of the overturned jug splashed onto him.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Backlit against the street lamps outside, the pigtailed figure swung the door open into the dark and empty recesses of the Nekohanten. One foot softly stepped into the doorway, then another. His head pivoted slowly about, scanning the room with the wary eyes of a predator, until it locked on a familiar figure.

In the shadows stood the Amazon, hands hidden in his sleeves, face encased in shadows, save for the glint of light that sparkled dimly against his spectacles. He lifted his eyes, and they locked onto Ranma's with the same rapacious gaze.

Ranma gripped both of his hands into loose fists at his sides, the crackle of tendons popping over knuckles echoing through the cavernous room. Several fluid joints popped as he twitched his neck from one shoulder to the other, then lifted his head, arrogantly flicking his pigtail back, the trademark sneer curled onto his lip.

A pair of hands shoved into his back, sending him sprawling forward into the room, and completely ruined his entrance.

"Will you hurry up and get on with it?" The two girls stepped in after him.

Ranma turned to glare at Nabiki, then back to face Mousse.

"Hey man, whatever beef ya got with her--" he jerked a thumb back at the middle Tendo girl.

"This matter is none of your concern Saotome!" roared the bespectacled boy.

"Look, she ain't even a martial artist."

"Ha! There are no innocents in the art of war!" Mousse turned to the object of his battle lust, who had casually positioned herself behind a Ranma shield, and pointed, surprisingly enough, in the right direction. "Take heed, Tendo-san, I will give no quarter."

Before any response could be formulated, in an impossibly fast blur of movement, a barrage of objects shot out from the depths of his silk sleeves.

Ranma launched himself in forward, guarding the two girls from the impending attack of whatever deadly apparati the master of hidden weapons launched, pausing only when he noticed that the flying projectiles weren't actually being aimed at _them_, but rather, towards the countertop. Not only that, they were arranging themselves into a pattern.

As the flurry of activity subsided, Mousse's hands disappeared back into the sleeves of his robes and he leaned back smugly. Nabiki peered over the pig-tailed boy's shoulder, blinked, then narrowed her eyes, glaring in half-lidded contempt at the contents of the table.

"You have _got_ to be kidding."

"Ah . . . a . . . " stammered Ranma.

" . . . a chessboard?" Akane finished dumbly.

Nabiki turned crossly to Ranma and Akane who were still attempting to pick themselves up from the ground.

"This is your fault isn't it?" She glared at the pigtailed boy.

"Actually," Akane coughed. "It's mine."

====----====----[** o.pening moves **]----====----====

"Bored." 

Ranma Saotome was never one to disguise his thoughts or emotions. Which was the main reason his mouth got him into so much trouble in the first place, especially when it came to things he deemed unimportant - like basic social skills. Oh, he could have learned it all at Martial Arts School Of Thinking Before You Open Your Trap Dumbass, had one such school existed (A certain erstwhile fiance had looked long and hard for such a possibility, alas there was none to be had), but like most other non-autonomic functions, it fell by the wayside.

Akane personally preferred to travel by legitimate means. Skulking about shipyards, surreptitiously hopping on freighters and sneaking onto cargo holds, while common fare to the other martial artists, were not a part of her normal travel pattern. Unfortunately, when she'd been taken on an impromptu flight to Jusendo she hadn't exactly had time to pick up her passport, so there they were, taking a ride on a slow boat from China.

Genma turned in his sleep, blowing little panda bubbles out of his nose. A sign propped up next to him read ['ZzZzZzZzZzZz']. Shampoo stood at the porthole staring moodily out at the waves. Mousse kept an eye on her from across the room, watching her with some concern and trepidation - after all, she'd glomped onto Ranma only once so far, and even then it seemed a half-hearted effort. 

As for Ranma, he was, well. . . 

"Bored," he repeated, just in case. Sure, primates might have had better manners, and occasionally, higher intelligence, but HE could pour the hell out of a cup of tea.

"We heard you the first time!"

Fearing another repetition of the obvious, the master of hidden weapons stood and shook out a sleeve. Toys, boxes and various paraphenalia of amusement dropped out onto the middle of the floor.

"Monopoly . . . Risk . . . Dungeons and Dragons . . . " mused Akane, browsing through the pile.

Ranma tugged open the Chinese boy's other sleeve and shoved his head inside its depths. "Hey, you got a Playstation in--GLURK!" Mousse glared at the pigtailed boy and peeled the spring-loaded mace back from Ranma's face, retracting it into his sleeve.

Undoing the first frog-tie from his robe, he fiddled around inside a hidden breast pocket and held out a color Gameboy. "Will this do?"

"Hey, Zelda!" Ranma eagerly snatched it out of his hands and retreated to the far end of the room happily accompanied by noisy electronic blips.

" . . . Magic, the Gathering . . . Chinese checkers . . ." Akane continued, then paused, unfolding what appeared to be a chessboard. "This sort of looks like Shogi except the board is funny."

Mousse's eyes lit up at the last of her comments and he began to talk animatedly, arranging pieces around the board.

"It's called Xiangqi. A Chinese variant on chess, much like Shogi. Do you play at all?"

From the porthole, Shampoo groaned.

"Er, no. I have played a little western chess though."

"I can teach you Xiangqi if you like."

"I take it you're good?"

"I beat Cologne twice," he shrugged.

"One win, one stalemate," the Amazon girl qualified.

"You know very well a stalemale counts as a win."

"Mousse also no mention lose one hundred twenty seven times to Hibachan." Oh, she loved being smug about that. "But is Joketsuzoku youth champion," the lavender-locked girl grudgingly conceded.

Akane had a sudden vision of her father and Genma huddled in serious concentration over chessboards, moving wooden pieces. Then she imagined her father in Mousse's robes and glasses and a panda with purple odangos, its hairy figure squeezed into an Amazon outfit twelve sizes too small bent over the shogi board.

"What's so funny?" queried Ranma, as her lips began to twitch.

"N-Nothing."

"Why look like that?" Shampoo frowned. "Is good battle training - skills needed for strategy, planning, logic in war. Good player maybe make good battle commander. Or in case of stupid Duck Boy, married to good battle commander and sweeping house."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Yeah, yeah. Duck Boy. Good housekeeping. I still don't get what any of this has to do with me."

"Well," Akane hedged. "I might have . . . mentioned . . . that you were . . . good."

"It was all explained in the letter," the Amazon noted.

Nabiki waved the booklet in the air. "You wrote it in Chinese."

He sniffed. "I provided a translation in the back."

She flipped through the pamphlet to the last few pages, then blinked.

"Well I'll be."

"Why didn't you just write it in Japanese then!" shouted Ranma, punching the bespectacled boy's in the back of his head.

Mousse blinked. "It's just that--I--uh---well--" his jaw worked in a few more soundless contortions before finally grumping, "SHUT UP."

Nabiki stood. 

"This is so stupid. I didn't come all the way here to play a game."

"Afraid then, are we?" The Chinese boy laconically leaned back against the edge of the booth, features drawn up in an arrogant smirk not unlike Ranma's when he was taunting an opponent.

An odd-colored aura flared up around Nabiki, not unlike Akane's. "Of course not. It's just that I don't like to waste my time with games that are . . . unprofitable. Unless you'd care to make a small wager?" Casually sliding into the booth, she smiled in a particularly sharklike manner at the possibility of carnage in the air.

The two not unlike people in question nervously glanced at each other, almost hearing the strains of 'Da DUM. Da DUM' humming ominously in the background.

Mousse, surprisingly enough, returned an equally predatorial grin as his battle aura flared as well. "I do not enjoy taking money from women." He slid into the other side of the booth.

Da Dum Da Dum

Okay, he was DEFINITELY hearing John Williams now. Ranma slinked a couple of steps towards the door anticipating an oversized mechanical Great White to come bursting through the floorboards.

"Oh, are you? Or are you just afraid of losing the shirt off your back to a l'il ol girl like me, Silky?"

"Silky?" Akane (who also edged a few steps closer to the exit) and Ranma paused at that.

"This is your name, isn't it?" She held up the envelope up to the Chinese boy. "Granted the kanji's not Japanese, but I believe it does translate to 'Washed Silk?'"

Da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM Da-- 

Cologne lifted the needle off the JAWS soundtrack spinning on the record player with the tip of her cane. Leveling a withering gaze at Mousse, she grumbled something about inconsiderate youngsters, the time of night and beauty rest, before hopping back upstairs and slamming the door shut.

"Three hundred years too late for any kind of beauty rest, I'd say," muttered the Amazon, sotto.

The door opened and a spinning ashtray careened off the side of Mousse's head before shutting again.

"Now," the Chinese boy motioned to Nabiki, ignoring the growing lump on his temple. "Where were we?"

Ranma and Akane unconsciously sidled closer together in front of the door as the two on opposite sides of the booth eyed the other with matching feral toothiness. The crackle of ozone sizzled in the air caused all manner of hairs Ranma never knew he had on his body to rise in static salute.

A smirk.

A gilded smile.

A queen's pawn edged forward two spaces.

The tinkling of the doorbell and the human-shaped dustclouds provided the only evidence of two former figures that had stood there only moments before.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

The stranger watched the tiny pig with the bandanna collar next to kettle on the Dragonfly stove with  certain sick fascination. After a few more minutes, a 'bwee' shook him out of his stupor and he picked up the kettle. The piglet formerly known as Ryoga stood up and walked under the spout and looked up expectantly. He hesitated, then poured the water over the tiny mass, eyes bulging when it sprang back into the full form of the lost boy.

"That . . . " he stammered. "That's . . . "

"It's Jusenkyo, that's what it is," Ryoga sighed as he crawled back into his clothes.

The stranger's eyes grew even wider. 

"The cursed springs? I've always thought it was a myth."

The lost boy grimaced, pulling his shirt on. 

"I wish it were." A head popped out of the sleeve, looked around, then ducked back in.

"Is this Jusenkyo . . . easy to find?"

"A bit of unsolicited advice," warned Ryoga, wringing out his bandanna. "I wouldn't go anywhere near it. There's a reason why it's 'cursed'. It's been nothing but that for anyone who's been there."

"You mean you're not the only one who's 'cursed'?"

"Nuh, uh," he flicked off the switch to his stove, and snapped the spider legs shut, before stowing it away into his backpack along with the kettle. "Lots of different springs - panda, cat, duck, yeti-riding-a-bull-while-carrying-a-crane-and-an-eel, girl, you name it, someone I know's probably fallen into it." Busy with repacking his items, he didn't notice the stranger stiffen.

"Couldn't you just cure yourself by jumping into a man-pool?"

"Believe me, I've been trying since the beginning. So many times, I've come close, yet . . . " Ryoga snorted, shaking his head. "Maybe it's like my 'other half.' Maybe I just wasn't destined to ever find either. But thanks for the story."

The stranger smiled thinly. "Actually, it was my niece who told it to me." He shook his head. "She was in love with a boy who, unfortunately, had other obligations. Sometimes I think she clings to that silly ideology because it's all she has."

"Other obligations?"

"The arranged kind."

Ryoga's eyes narrowed. "His name wasn't Ranma was it?"

"No."

"Good."

A silence overtook as both men settled into their respective thoughts.

Leaning back against the thatching, Ryoga watched the crescent moon sweep along its nightly course in the sky above.

Was it true? Had Akane never been fated to be his other half in the first place? And if not, who was? Was it even a she? He really, REALLY hoped it was, in fact, a she. The idea of being part of a four-legged male was rather unappealing. And if it was a she, how would she recognize him? And more importantly, how would he find her?

An image of Akari came to him, unbidden, and he unconsciously smiled at the thought.

Tomorrow . . . tomorrow he would return to Nerima.

He'd return and then he'd ask her.

The stranger drew an old battered scroll out staring at the first two letters that spelled out "Sunflower" in old Chinese characters.

For weeks he'd agonized over the decision, of the sacrifice he would have had to made to dip into the true power of what he held in his hands. He'd come to the roof to make that decision, forsake what he was for the art, and to get as much liquid courage as he could into is body. Because he'd have to get truly, madly drunk to even contemplate what he'd been about to do.

But if what the boy said were true, it could . . . would . . . make all the difference.

"Jusenkyo," he whispered, clutching the scroll closer to his chest.


	2. i.mperfect

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.2]**

=====----=====-----====----====

It was good to be the kunoichi.

One particular unprecedented century-spawned genius-type would have verily agreed as he skipped down the sidewalk, heart all aflutter, taking in the delighful sights, sounds and smells in the air on the path back to Ucchan's. With the pan of bath articles spinning delirously around at the tip of his index finger and a favorite tunes humming in his heart, Konatsu traipsed delicately down the street at a leisurely-yet-anticipatory pace.

He'd shown his mistress, his goddess, light of his life, fire of his--er, he'd shown his beloved Ukyo-sama how a little treestump remover mixed with ashes of his nightly garbage burns and a few other things she had around the shop could make some wondrously large explosions (unlike the small -if terribly cute- flour bombs and firecrackers she seemed so fond of). To his delight, the okonomiyaki chef had displayed a great deal of interest in learning more about nitrate-based compounds, and combined with her facility in basic chemistry, the two had spent the past few glorious days making all sorts of neat things that went boom.

It was that expression, her face alight in wonderment that he now recalled, her visage appearing like an angel before the ninja. The feeling, the joy he experienced in realizing that he could bring a smile to his Ukyo-sama's face, that he could finally give back something to his mistress, after she'd given him so much. That glorious emotion filled him with rapture in every mincing hop, skip and jump, every giggling twirl. It was so overwhelming, in fact it made him want to . . . to . . . 

. . . sing!

             '_There were bells on a hill_

_              But I never heard them ringing_

_              No, I never heard them at all_

_              Till there was you._'

Dandelions sprouted, blossoming with warm abundance in Elysian fields. Songbirds fluttered around his head, trilling in accompaniment to his thrilling solo a cappella.

             '_There were birds in the sky_

_              But I never saw them winging_'

One sparrow lit upon his uplifted hand, perching on his delicately outstretched index finger.

              '_No, I never saw them at all_

_              Till there was y--_'

Staggered, loud hand-slapping and obnoxious hoots from passersby on the street brought him out of his revue. The kunoichi tucked away his microphone, mild irritation marking his face, as one broke from his pack and staggered drunkenly towards him.

"Awww . . . why'dja stop?" the six-pack Romeo slurred, as a few others also wobbled in their leader's general direction. Five men, each one of them tanked out of their minds approached. The one who'd spoken to him appeared to be a little shy of six-foot-four and built like a linebacker.

"Excuse me, I must be going." Konatsu stepped around the giant, only to find himself blocked by an impressive forearm and bicep. 

"Gu-girl like you shouldn't be walkin' the *HIC* shtreets alone --should have sh-some protec--tec--you know." He bent towards the smaller figure, grinning and reeking of cigarettes and Sapporo as he moved that arm to the kunoichi's shoulders. "Name's Takao."

No sooner had he placed a meaty hand on the ninja than he found his spine shortened by three inches. Eyes bulged from the drunken bunch as the thin, delicate-featured girl effortlessly suplexed a man over twice her weight to the ground. They surrounded the kunoichi, a tad more sober.

"Now, it's not very manly to force your attentions on a girl who doesn't want them." From out of the night came a new voice. Everyone turned to see a matronly woman step from the penumbric shadows into the flaring lamplight, a long wrapped bundle in her arms. The cloth slowly unwrapped, fluttering to the ground with the whisper of a moth wing, revealing a katana cradled in her arms.

"Stay outta this, lady," one of the goons growled, much in the manner of typical goons, and took a threatening step forward in the method specified by the "How to Be an Effective Goon" manual (copies available at the Nerima Chapter of the local Goon Union, and other fine goon establishments). After all, there were proper procedures to follow.

"It's really not necessary," the ninja agreed.

"It is the wife and mother of martial artists' duty to protect the innocent," Nodoka Saotome announced, as little flags and banners with "DUTY IS OUR JOB" printed on them sprouted out from behind her.

"Wife and mother?" blinked one.

"Wouldn't that make her her own grandma?" another muttered, scratching his head.

The woman's fingers grimly wrapped around the hilt of her sword. "Thus it falls upon--whoops!"

She jerked a little too hard and the katana slipped from her fingers, spinning through the air in a circular arc until it sliced into the wall with an authoritative *thwack* high between one man's legs. He emitted squeak somewhere in the upper range of the treble clef before slowly toppling over sideways.

The rest of the gang, torn between one psychotic violent female and another found their decision made for them as a shout of "Crimson Storm!" suddenly buried them in an explosion of deadly smooches, leaflets  reading _Eat at Ucchans!_, two dozen slightly-used chopsticks and one or two shurikens.

Takao picked an unfortunate time to regain consciousness, groggily rising to his feet amidst the litter and settling dust. He staggered towards the ninja whose right hand was still upraised in the middle of the smoky storm.

Leaping towards the shaking figure who had come surprisingly close to singing soprano for the Vienna Boys Choir (and consequently lost all semblance of bladder control), Konatsu deftly pulled the katana out from the wall and twisted, landing soundlessly in front of the now six-foot-one leader. With a flick of his wrist, the kunoichi swung the sword, its whistling edge glittering in a deadly arc.

=====----=====-----[** i.mperfect **]-----=====----=====

Sometimes it sucked to be so ardently desired.

Shampoo had finally finished her last delivery of the night and was in the process of hopping on her bike, when two forms blew by her at Mach-3, kicking up dust, leaves and assorted stray advertisements in their wake. Blinking, the Amazon followed the twin trails of burning rubber, arching her neck around the corner as the two bats-out-of-hell resolved themselves into the familiar figures of a pigtailed boy and . . . and. . . *HER*.

"Man, that was scary," her Airen wheezed, one arm heavily leaned against a wall that lined the sidewalk.

Akane shivered in agreeement, rubbing her upper arms. "You're not kidding. I think the temperature dropped about five degrees in there."

The Amazon followed the two of them from a certain distance as they made their way back to the dojo at a lower velocity. It all looked normal at the onset, yet she could not help but feel a slight sense of wrongness at the scene of the Kitchen Destroyer walking homewards with Shampoo's Airen beside her.

The Pervert Girl had stopped and was now facing Shampoo's husband, both engaged in a murmured conversation that ended with the girl gesturing towards the top of the wall. He idled, alternating between one foot and the other, then shrugged. Looking around, he self-consciously rubbed a hand behind his head, and the purple-haired girl heard:

"Didn't feel like it, I guess." He shrugged, then a slight smirk hitched on his lips. "Why, you thinking 'bout taking my place up there?"

"You think I can't do it?"

"Considerin' you got about, oh, *zero* balance . . . I dunno."

The Pervert Girl then glanced around, looking for any witnesses. Shampoo snapped around the corner as the girl's head swiveled her way. Peeking back around, she caught the end of Akane's leap coming up a fraction short, then an indelicate scramble onto the wall. Righting herself on the ten-foot brick barrier, arms held out for balance, she took her first wobbly steps forward with all the grace of a newborn colt.

"HA!" The Pervert Girl triumphantly looked down, then windmilled slightly as the action caused her to jitter.

Her Airen shook his head, trying to hide the beginnings of a smile that threatened to break out on his face. Suppressing a chuckle, he hopped atop the precarious perch, facing his fiance.

The temptation to break up such a sickly sweet moment was overwhelming. It should be *her* on the wall, walking with her husband. Not that . . . that less-cute, balance-challenged, food-torturing . . . Kitchen Destroyer.

It would be simple, really, a voice reminiscent of her Hibachan murmured in the Amazon's ear. Just hop the fence on her bicycle and ram lovingly into her Airen. If she was lucky, knock him unconscious, and then glomp onto him like the cuddly, squirmy little squeezable he was. Get Pervert Girl mad. Get both of them kicked into the river as Violent Girl stalk off. Have Airen wake up and run off screaming like a little girl as she meowed and clung to Airen's head. Wait until Airen plowed into something that couldn't be knocked over. Let go of Airen's unconscious body. Go home. Get hot water. Beat Mousse for hugging plant, calling it 'Shampoo' and declaring his love to it.

Same as always.

It was expected.

It would be tedious.

With a sigh, Shampoo turned and silently pedaled back to the Nekohanten.

=====----=====-----====----====

Ranma wanted badly to laugh, but Akane looked so proud to be walking (well, not really walking, more like wobbling) there on the wall, he simply didn't have the heart.

"What are you doing up here?" *Wobble*

"'Cause, dummy, it's a long fall. If you break your head and start droolin' Mr. Tendo'll kill me, and I don't wanna be engaged to no manju for brains. You're also wearin' a dress." He flipped into a handstand and began walking backwards on his palms. "'Course, if you want me to keep lookin' up your skirt . . . "

Akane _EEP!_'ed and pushed her skirt down between her legs, which consequently turned out to be a really, really bad idea as her already precarious footing gave out from beneath her and she weaved, wavered and finally pitched forward.

Flipping forward back onto his feet, Ranma caught the girl by the waist, attempting to rebalance her, but her panicked arm-flapping threw the both of them off to the side.

"Quit windmillin' around, stupid!" He snapped as an errant hand whacked him across one eye and both toppled off the wall. Righting himself, the pigtailed boy scooped up the girl and kicked off the side of the partition, bouncing across several trees, signposts and cars until he finally came to a soft landing.

Just in time to see a flash of steel slice the air towards his face.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

_**Click**_

Nabiki counted four more moves to a perfect three-point fork and leaned back against the booth to admire her handiwork, pausing only to slip a quick glance at the entrance of the Nekohanten. "Not to rush you or anything, Moussie-chan . . . "

"Would you stop calling me that?"

"Right-o, Duckman." Her eyes flickered back from the front doors. "I'd just like to be out of here before Shampoo comes back."

He shook his head, then blocked her setup with a pawn. "What do you have against my beloved?"

"Personally? Nothing at all. But I'd just as soon not be part of the collateral damage when she starts using your head as a hockey puck for latching onto her bicycle and spouting sweet nothings to it."

"Love," he sighed staring dreamily off into space. "It's . . . "

"Exciting and new? A many splendoured thing? A battlefield? I'm sure it is."

"You've never been in love," he retorted, pointing with an all-knowing smugness that made her want to smack it off his four-eyed face.

"Oh, please! Is that pity I see? It's not exactly something I miss."

"Of course not. You can't miss something you've never experienced."

"Never experienced what? Self-loathing when he derides you, calls you names, destroys your self-image? Jealousy when he leads the others on, and flaunts his 'manliness' in front of you? The conflict he inevitably attracts and adamant refusal to take on anything remotely resembling responsibility?" A bark. A laugh? It sounded unnatural to the Amazon. "If that's love, I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

A black pawn piece twiddled between four long fingers, slipping back and forth, over, under, through endless figure eights before clicking one square forward.

"He does care about her, you know."

"Yeah? Well he sure has a funny way of showing it."

"Saotome's a cretin and a compulsive womanizer, I'll agree to that, but I will also not dispute the fact that he cares enough to fight a seemingly hopeless battle for her life. And enough to call her back from the dead."

Her hand stilled, the white bishop precariously dangling from the set of closely manicured nails. "Wait. Wait a minute. You're saying my little sister _died_ in China?"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====-----====

The blade of the katana whizzed in a clean stroke that would have further reduced the Takao's height to a mere five-foot-four (but also would have cured the would-be assailant's persistent acne problem), had it connected. However, the sword was instead intercepted by a pair of choppers that stopped the edge's forward momentum dead in its tracks.

"Hey 'Natsu, 'sup," came the mumble from between clenched teeth.

The kunoichi blinked at the sudden appearance of Ranma-san and Akane-san in his field of vision.

"Ranma!"

"Mom?" Nodoka's son turned and spat out the blade. Then he noticed the half-dozen or so whimpering, battered forms lying around in various states of agony, covered in lipstick, papercuts and kitchen utensils.

Murabayashi, goon-in-training (he had only one more month of probation to go before he would be granted full membership, post-initiation fees), stealthily flipped through his copy of "How to Be an Effective Goon" to chapter eleven, titled: '**Dealing With Nermia Martial Artists**'. Below the header listed an array of photographs, all reproduced in vibrant Kodacolor.

            A wanna-be samurai with a bokken and bouquet of flowers. Nope.

            Guy in a bandanna with a backpack and umbrella. Nope.

"These guys been buggin' ya?" mouthed the pigtailed kid.

            Girl with a giant spatula. Nope.

            Pretty-boy with dragon-scale vest and pantyhose belt. Pantyhose?

Nodoka sniffed, gathering up her katana. "Not really." She inspected the teeth marks that dented both sides of the blade and frowned. Glancing back at her son, she brightened. "It's so nice to see you and your fiance getting along so well."

Ranma's face furrowed in confusion, then his eyeballs slowly rolled to the right, at Akane's own averted pair. He set her down on the ground, the both of them shuffling their feet and blushing slightly.

            Chinese girl with purple hair. Nope.

            Chinese boy in glasses looking the wrong way. Nope.

"Um, have you seen a tall drunken guy? This wide," the ninja spread his arms slightly. "Last seen where you are right now?"

Ranma scanned the perimeter, swiveling his head to the left, then right, then up, and finally down. After a moment of pause, he stepped off of Takao's head, and with a negligent sweep of his foot, flipped the unconscious (but fully unionized) goon over onto his back.

            Short-haired, somewhat cute girl.

            Kid in Chinese clothes and pigtail.

Murabayashi looked up.

Then glanced back down at the spitting image of the two photographs, before turning the page. On it, in proud 24-point bold font read the caption, '_Should you encounter any of these people . . . _'

_--Flip--_

The next page displayed a giant picture of someone's posterior with the caption: 

**_Kiss this goodbye_**.

The goon-to-be whimpered.

Then, a sudden flash of abnormal insight struck, much in the manner of a three-watt bulb flickering dimly on. He executed an unprecedented move (unprecedented at least by those of the local Goon Union, Nerima Chapter), thus insuring at least a partial extension to his present lifespan and contributing to remotest possibility of producing future goon children. It was be a topic, points of which would be debated, discussed, its inherent strategy outlined for years to come.

He went back to being unconscious.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Lights off.

Lot secured.

Bell muffled.

The purple-haired Amazon stealthily crept towards the Nekohanten, wishing ferverently for one evening's respite from yet another full-frontal glomp and wail of "Shampoo, I love you!" by that cretinous, blind duck. Ever since Jusendo he'd been much more annoying than usual, sticking like to her like a damn lamprey every time she so much as walked into the room.

Slipping through the glass doors, she drew in a muted hiss upon spotting the fool huddled in one of the corner booths, and cocked a fist back in preparation of planting a solid one on his kisser.

Seconds passed and the figure in the booth still hadn't moved, and the Amazon took a few steps forward, spotting the second figure across from him as that belonging to yet another Tendo daughter. They both sat positioned in front of a chess board, silent and unmoving, like the other permanent fixtures in the restaurant.

Another few feet and Shampoo saw that the look the Mercenary Girl gave Mousse could have bored a hole through his cranium.

She stared at the two for long a moment, then shrugged and ambled upstairs to bed.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Back at the Tendo dojo, Kasumi handed a cup of tea to the kunoichi, who marvelled at the number of leaves milling about at the bottom of his cup. Why there must have been at least six of the little pieces sitting there!

"So many," Konatsu murmured, blowing a wisp of steam aside, before taking a sip. Then his eyes fell upon the cookie that sat on the little dish right in front of him. Not a crumb, not a little broken off piece, but a _whole entire_ _cookie_! Oh joys! Oh rapture! Tears of delight glimmered gratefully under his eyelashes. It was so extravagant!

"So, child," Nodoka began, "I understand you live at the Kuonji girl's restaurant."

"Ukyo-sama," sighed the ninja, eyes filled with a perfect array of glittering diamonds in black, shimmering pools. "I could sing raptures about how wonderful she is! She feeds me, clothes me, and pays me a whole 20 yen a week!"

"Must have given him a raise." Akane murmured to the pigtailed boy, who nodded.

"How rich I am, to know such a generous goddess!" the kunoichi continued to gush, unheeding of the slight frown that began to crease the Saotome matriarch's face.

"You seem quite attached to the girl," Nodoka carefully probed.

Konatsu blushed. "Oh yes, she . . ."

             '_She will hold me fast_

_             I'll be home at last_'

An elegant blue spotlight lovingly caressed the ninja's delicate form, his figure waxing longingly behind an old 50's style announcers mike, as he crooned his aching heart out.

             '_Not a loser anymore_

_             Like the last time and the time before._'

Polite claps sounded from the occupants of the living room.

"I can see how living with the Kuonji girl would be the source of certain . . . confusion," murmured Nodoka. Then, seeing a solution rise like a periscope in distant sights, she tapped a fist into her palm.

Waves crashed against the shoreline behind the Saotome matriarch as she stood proudly with one foot perched on the dinner table. One of the breakers caught Ranma unawares and tossed the boy-turned-girl around like a hacky-sack before finally dumping her back onto shore. "Thus it shall be my duty to dispel these yearnings and make you a true woman among--"

"Uh, hey mom." A dripping Ranma-chan tapped Nodoka on the shoulder. "Konatsu's a guy."

A pause. A long one.

"I see." Another pause. "Would you like some hot water?"

"No curse. He's just . . . different."

"Mrs. Saotome," Akane added helpfully. "He's a kunoichi. He's supposed to do those," she gesticulated, floundering, then gave up. "Kunoichi-like things."

The double overhead receded into distant still waters as Nodoka sat back down, index finger tapping thoughtfully against her cheek. "Kunoichi? I've heard about the kind of things they are supposed to do. Do you--" Visions of yaoi danced in her head. "--Seduce men as well?"

"NO!" Konatsu then blushed and coughed delicately. "I like women. My sisters took care of those things." He rubbed his chin. "Though most of the time the customers just sort of ran off screaming. But I've never had to do anything more than a kiss."

"Oh dear. And that attack, what was, it, 'Crimson Storm?' That's not exactly manly, is it?"

"Plus you know all those showtunes," Soun added.

Genma, noticing the kunoichi's cookie was still untouched, subtly snaked a hand over and was met with a bloodthirsty, teeth-bared snarl before hastily retreating.

"It's perfectly fine, you know." Kasumi gave the ninja such a warm, accepting smile. "If you're inclined towards--"

"I'M NOT INTERESTED IN MEN!" Konatsu shouted, leaping to his feet.

A second later, a duplicate popped up, chiming in:

            '_I can't abide 'em even now and then._'

Then a third:

            '_Than ever marry one of them, I'd rest a virgin rather,_'

And fourth:

            '_For husbands are a boring lot and only give you bother._'

The original finally summed it up with:

            '_Of course, I'm awfully glad that Mother had to marry Father,_

_            But I--_'

The kunoichi paused, jaw hanging in mid-arpeggio, suddenly noticing the stares from around the room. Discreetly tucking the microphone away, his body copies dissapeared with an audible **Poit!** and the ninja settled back down assuming his prettily pressed demeanor. "In any case, I assure you I'm quite heterosexual. I just wish that . . . "

"Yes?" Nodoka leaned forward.

"I wish I were more like Ranma-san," the ninja looked down and folded his hands in his lap. "Then perhaps Ukyo-sama would think of me differently."

The Saotome matriarch leaned back thoughtfully. "I understand perfectly. My son is, after all, a truly manly man."

A glowing Ranma crossed her arms arrogantly, manfully tossing her head against the backlit sunset, a sight which would have been truly impressive in its manliness if she didn't have breasts at the time.

"I've even tried dressing more like Ranma-san, and yet it still doesn't seem to work!" wailed the kunoichi, who then tossed an object into the air that gave off a *poof* of smoke and streamers resembling a giant party popper.

As the haze cleared, the assorted members of the household took in the sight of the transformed ninja, then, as a slight breeze blew by, slowly toppled over like a stack of dominoes.

"My, what an impressive disguise!" clapped Kasumi.

It really was a very good facsimile. The pigtail. The instant red hair dye. Even the padded bra.

"Boy," Genma bigsweated, propping himself up from the floor. "That fuku has GOT to go."

Konatsu cocked his head as the perplexed index finger of his right played against a corner of his lip.

"But Ranma-san wears dresses all the time . . . "

Nodoka's head whipped towards her presently-female son and husband, both of whom yelped and alternated between hiding behind each other.

"Perhaps then, my husband could help you in becoming a man among men." the Saotome matriarch sweatdropped. "After all, he did so well with Ranma here." The pigtailed girl snorted derisively. "Plus, it will give my husband something to occupy his time."

Genma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But it'd mean spending less time training this ungrateful cub here."

Ranma 'feh'd' as he poured the remainder of the teakettle over his head. "Like there's anything left you got ta teach me, old fool."

"The boy may be right," the Saotome patriarch sighed, suddenly seeming decades older than before, with his head bent and bowed from the weight of his years. "This old shell of a man has nothing left to offer . . . nothing but a little FATHERLY LOVE!" He grabbed the boy and proceeded to hug him and love him and squeeze him to itty bitty pieces.

Ignoring the twitching and crumpled product of the Cradle of Hell on the floor, Genma clapped Konatsu on the back, knocking out the cookie wedged in the kunoichi's face.

"All right, Konatsu, I'll do it."

The ninja picked up the cookie, dusted it off and popped it back into his mouth. "Thank you," he mumbled, swallowing the confection whole. "Thank you so much Saotome-san! I can finally be a man for Ukyo-sama."

"We'll start off first with fishcakes," the older man began ticking off items on his fingers. "Then octopus and squid, maybe some tuna sausages as well and--"

Ranma kicked him in the head.

"Baka oyaji! You ain't teaching him THAT! I can't believe how stupid you are! You planning to take him to Jusenkyo too?"

In response, a hand shot up, latched on to his extended leg, and slammed him facedown to the floor. Genma then sat up, arms thoughtfully crossed.

"You know, the boy may have an idea there. A curse might very well--"

This time it was Akane who knocked his head through the floorboards.

"Mrs. Saotome, are you sure this is a good idea?" She asked plaintively, as Ranma glared at the wriggling form trying to unsuccessfully pry his head out of the floor.

"I will keep an eye on my husband to see he does not go too far in his training." She turned to Soun. "Perhaps with the assistance of Tendo-san as well."

The Tendo patriach brightened. "What do you think, Saotome? It'll be just like old times!" Shuffling over, he yanked up Genma's head from the hole, flicked off a few board splinters, and jabbed the befuddled old man in the ribs conspiratorially. "Besides the kids'll be too busy with other things anyway, eh?"

The two who were the subject of the nudge-nudge, wink-wink, grin-grin, say-no-more, stared suspiciously at their fathers.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you all!" The Kunoichi's joy could be tangibly felt in the explosion that detonated in the living room.

"Perhaps," Nodoka calmly wiped the smattering of lipstick kisses off her kimono. "We should start on that soon."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

The heavy silence that pervaded Nerima's late evening was so palpable, Mousse could have sworn that it had caught him by the throat, strangling all semblance of voice out of him. The Amazon swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the girl walking silently beside him, wondering if he'd spoken too much earlier that evening.

Nabiki had been on a continual stew since he'd opened his stupid mouth back at the Nekohanten, and he could only imagine the kind of demons he'd released tonight with that slip. Though he'd never experienced being on the wrong end of the Tendo sister's wrath, he'd heard of the horrors underwent by those who crossed the otherwise normal-seeming girl, a certain hell served with a smile.

Anger, he could take. He suffered that all the time. Violence, he was used to. He suffered THAT all the time as well. But this . . . this simmering undercurrent under an otherwise expressionless veneer was something he didn't understand nor had he any interest in taking an up-close inspection of.

Still, with the valiant effort of a bewildered amateur attempting to defuse an intricate ticking time bomb, Mousse took a deep breath and bravely tried to mitigate the situation.

"I believe what happened to your sister and Saotome at Jusendo is something that you need to ask of them yourself," the Amazon murmured. "I will say this though: there were several times when he could have died - should have died - had it not been for her. As many times as he has saved her, she has done likewise for him."

He received only more silence in return.

She died, the thought skipped through Nabiki's head like a scratched and battered record.

Akane had _died_.

There had always been the nagging fear that had crept into her when the Saotomes first rolled into town, smelling of nothing but trouble. Ranma welcomed conflict, wallowed in it, hell he probably lived off it. Over time, instead of dissipating, that fear took up permanent residence in the back of her mind. Spending a week as the unfortunate substitute-fiancee to the jerk had only strengthened the assumptions of the nonsense her baby sister had to go through on a daily basis.

Distilled down to its most basic, primitive form, everything, was Saotome's fault.

The well worn thread of grudging tolerance unraveled and broke with a resounding *twang*, a noise that sounded remarkably like a piano string snapping.

"Thanks for walking me home, Mousse," was all she said as they stopped in front of the gates of the Tendo Dojo.

Nabiki entered the gates, only pausing in mild surprise when he lightly grasped her arm.

"I would avoid getting involved in other people's love lives." The Amazon pushed his glasses up to his forehead. "Otherwise you will find that not only he, but your sister will hate you as well."

The only thing returned was a glittering half-smirk, and he finally began to understand what the three year smiling death was really all about.

"She'll get over it."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Panic. 

Flailing. 

Sinking. 

Seeing the world above her through a rippling haze of water, the sky darkening as consciousness began to succumb to the inevitable.

Have to . . . breathe . . . breathe through frozen, shocked lungs

Can't . . . 

No, she begged

Please, no . . . I can't swim . . . can't . . . 

The water closed in over her head, their chill seeping into her diaphragm, her limbs, her bones.

Can't . . . can't breathe . . . can't . . . 

With a loud gasp and deep, desperate intake of breath, Akane jerked awake, heart tripping in her chest, madly trying to jackhammer its way out. She lay there until the shuddering, choked fireworks in her lungs subsided slightly before sitting up in bed.

Reaching down to the floor, with clumsy, cold fingers, she pulled the blankets she'd kicked off in the night over her frozen limbs, drawing her legs in to her chest. Akane wrapped her arms around her knees, fighting off the numbing ache in her body, then, ever so slowly, her head bent, tilting forward until they rested in the cradle of her hands.

And she stayed like that for the rest of the night.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Where the songs came from:

(1) _'Till There Was You,_ The Music Man, Meredith Wilson

(2) _Maybe This Time,_ Cabaret, John Kander & Fred Ebb

(3) _I Hate Men,_ Kiss Me Kate, Cole Porter


	3. b.litzkrieg

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.3]**

=====----=====-----====----====

"Giant Mocha Freeze!" Called the way-too-perky barista from behind the counter at Le Cafe Doutor. Nabiki shuffled up listlessly, rubbing remnants of sleep from her eyes with one hand as she picked up her order with the other. Sipping on her iced drink, she felt the caffiene, glorious caffiene, settle into her sluggish bloodstream, and she returned to her table to peruse the invitation. 

Some people, like Kasumi, were morning people, awake and energetic from the moment they rose at the crack of dawn. 

Some were simply early risers out of habit or necessity. Akane usually rose at about 6:30 for her morning jog.

Nabiki Tendo was neither one of them. She sighed, glancing up at the clock that pronounced 5:35 in large digital letters on the wall. 5:35 was an ungodly hour for a girl who preferred enjoying the comforts of bed until the absolute last possible minute. Vampires and other nocturnal creatures knew a good thing when they had it.

But here she was, sitting in a coffee shop at 5:35 -- no, now it was 5:36 in the morning, propping her eyelids open with coffee stirrers, trying to map out a battle strategy.

She'd gone through the stack of letters and bills on the kitchen counter last night after returning from the Nekohanten and found a receipt from one from the local printers. Sneaking into her father's room revealed the remainder of the invitations that had yet to be delivered, confirming her suspicions, though she really didn't want to know why he was sleeping with his arms around a cask of sake.

According to what was written, Ranma and Akane's wedding was set for tomorrow, and unless something was done about it, it might actually go off without a hitch. 

=====----=====-----====----====

6:17 read the clock on the wall of Kinko's. 

Nabiki quickly filled in the details on the form for express reproduction service, pausing only when she reached the line asking for the number of copies wanted. Tapping the pen against her lip, she smiled and scrawled in three digits.

"That should do it," she murmured, taking the form and invitation to the front desk. She handed the clerk the invitation, with her last-minute addendum written in at the bottom - **ALL GIFTS ARE NON-RETURNABLE**, underlined twice.

One hour later, the girl strolled out of the copy center, three hundred sealed invitations bulging in her backpack. Pulling one envelope from the stack, she tapped the edge of the sealed letter against her cheek, then hopped on her bicycle and took off.

=====----=====-----[ **b.litzkrieg **]-----=====----=====

Round and round, the ladle went, stirring out the lumps until everything was a smooth, silky consistency. Round and round in an endless loop, the okonomiyaki chef stirred her batter, never satisfied until the the mixture was perfect. It was, after all, Ukyo Kuonji's meticulous attention to detail and the fine cuisine that brought customers back to Ucchans day after day after day.

Not to mention the really cute chef that served them as well.

Okay, maybe the waitress too, she softly chuckled.

Konatsu had been painfully thin when they had first met, waiflike and three-quarters starved. Destitute, penniless and friendless, with zero knowledge of the value of money, the boy had shown so much gratitude to simply be fed and taken care of.

It was only recently, with regular meals, that the kunoichi finally began to tilt towards the right side of 'normal.' Normal girl, that was. Even after he filled out and put on a bit of healthy weight, he still looked like a fine-figured, if rather flat chested, woman -- those long, willowly limbs, thin, curved waist, and narrow hips brought even the okonomiyaki chef to a certain envy. The most appalling part was that he also had better legs than she did. And did he have to be so darned cute too?

But realistically, Ukyo had little to complain about. Konatsu never protested any of the work that needed to be done, in fact he always did more than expected, forever eager to find a way to do something extra for his 'Ukyo-sama' as he called her, with that bright, ebullient smile and some silly song on his lips.

It just because of that and his cheerful easygoing way that it was easy to forget her effeminate, passive friend was a highly trained assassin. And not just any assassin. A "genius kunoichi" as Happosai described, and she had to grudgingly admit at least some of that was true. If Ranma was the master of adaptive combat, Konatsu was one of adaptive weaponry. Who knew her kitchen held so many combustible components?

He seemed so overjoyed to be able to teach her, and frankly she was shocked at the depth of knowledge the ninja held about explosive chemical compounds. It was almost unnerving to hear him rattle off happily about catalysts, flashpoints, propellants and effective uses of primary charges.

And yet when she'd asked him where he learned so much about demolitions, the only thing she'd gotten out of him was a pleasant, "My sisters didn't always look like they do now."

It did however, explain to an extent why she'd caught him several times unnecessarily burning garbage outside the restaurant, seen him standing there before the pyre, watching the flickering flames with disturbing fascination.

The opening door brought Ukyo out of her musings, and the okonomiyaki chef glanced up. "What do you want?" She bluntly queried the figure who stepped in through the door.

"This is a restaurant isn't it?" Nabiki smiled pleasantly, dropping her lumpy backpack to the floor in front of her. "I felt a hankering for some, um. . ." she twirled her fingers in a vague _help me out here_ gesture.

"Okonomiyaki!"

"Right. I felt a hankering for some pork okonomiyaki, that's all."

Ukyo continued to gauge the middle Tendo girl suspiciously, but nevertheless poured the batter onto the grill. 

"You're up a little early."

The short-haired girl shrugged. "Had some errands to run."

As Ukyo dropped the plate to the counter, Nabiki took out an envelope, placed it flat on the tabletop, and slid it towards her.

The cook paused, hand hovering over the envelope with the cute little heart sticker on the back. With a flick of her fingernail, she gingerly opened the flap and lifted out its contents.

After a long moment of perusing the invitation, she finally said, "This is a joke, isn't it?" The laugh that emerged was a brittle warble. "Ranchan would never--"

"--Would never send me here to deliver this invitation?" She leaned forward slightly on the stool. "Unfortunately, yours isn't the only one I have to deliver today. Guess he didn't have time to  mention it to you, huh?"

Truth was, Ranchan hadn't come by once since the group returned from China, and the okonomiyaki chef was on the verge of delivering a slew of her specialties to the Tendo household just to find out exactly what was going on.

"He couldn't even be bothered to give you it himself. Why, it's almost as if he's trying to hide something." She pulled her unofficial guest roster out from the pocket of her uniform, making show out out perusing the score of names before pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Oh dear."

"Huh?" Ukyo blinked.

The middle Tendo sister scratched her head, as if embarrassed. "I thought your name was on here for some reason. I mean you are his best friend, right? You'd think that he'd want you to share in his day of joy. Hello?"

She waved a hand in front of the okonomiyaki chef, who appeared to have zoned out. Nabiki stood, hefted the backpack to her shoulders, and slipped out of the restaurant.

Staring blankly ahead, the Ukyo continued to stir the batter.

That jerk! That, that creep! Planning to sneak off and marry that not-even-as-cute girl and trying to HIDE IT from her. Using and then casting her off like some dirty apron. Noooooo, we don't need Ucchan anymore, do we?

It was as if she were six again, chasing after the yatai, shouting 'Ranchan! Ranchan! You said you were going to take me with you!' Stumbling, falling, watching the cart rattle off through blurry eyes, seeing her future, her life fade into the distance with a wave. The humiliation she'd suffered, the cruel gossip and whisperings, the fulminating anger, all came back with a vengeance. Not once, but twice, he done this to her! 

Round and round, the ladle went, stirring out the lumps, pounding out her emotions, blending her angst until it was a smooth, even consistency.

Oh he would pay, yes he would.

The hand on the mixer paused.

But wasn't it Genma's fault that she'd been left behind? Ranchan hadn't known. He'd cried at having to leave her behind, ignorant of the machinations that his bastard of a father had wreaked upon both their lives. No, Ranchan wouldn't do this to her. It had to be a trick. Yes, that was it. That had to be it. It had to be the lousy panda again. Him or--

Her.

Reaching under the shelf, she absently brought out a box and carefully flipped the top open. What was the combination Konatsu had said? Stump remover, soot and sulfur? Opening the plastic bag inside, she poured the remander of the Nutonex into the okonomiyaki batter and began stirring again.

Slowly, her unfocused eyes realigned on the now-vacant spot where Nabiki had sat and the untouched okonmiyaki on the counter that was slowly going cold.

Untouched okonomiyaki.

Okonomiyaki.

"Hey! She didn't pay!"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"My great-granddaughter is still out at the market, but I'll see that she gets it." The old crone tucked the invitation into the folds of her robe. "But I am slightly curious as to your motivation in all of this."

"The more the merrier, the bigger the presents are," Nabiki rejoindered blandly. "I mean, what else could possibly go wrong? Maybe my sister could fall into a Jusenkyo pond or something." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, wait, that already happened, didn't it?"

The bell hiccuped forlornly as the door flew shut.

Cologne turned to the Amazon boy who appeared at the top of the stairs. "You never told me about this."

"It's not as if it did anything," shrugged Mousse, carefully navigating the blurry stairwell. "From what I gather, the Tendo girl went into an uncursed pond. Or at least it was uncursed before she went in."

"And you didn't think this was important enough to mention?"

"She's still here, and she's not cursed, what does it matter?"

"Stupid child, it's called the drowning spring because someone drowned in it, not because someone took a quick dip. If the Tendo girl created a spring at Jusenkyo, then eventually Jusenkyo is going to want her back."

Hopping to the entrance, the Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku turned the sign around so that it read CLOSED and turned the lock-bolt.

"Sit down, boy. You're going to tell me everything that happened in China."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Furinkan turned out to be easier than expected.

A stack of invitations mysteriously left in the dropboxes of the various clubs resulted by mid-afternoon in the Kendo, Chemistry, Robotics, Sumo, Photography, Karate, Aikido and Yearbook Clubs weeping inconsolably into their pillows, their clenched fists cursing the sky and wailing at the injustices committed by this cruel, cruel world. The Football, Baseball, Basketball, Wrestling, Rugby and Track Teams simply sat around the locker room sniffling, disconsolate tracks of tears streaming down their faces as they shared a giant, wistful sigh.

Nabiki was in a much better mood. After all, her backpack was now lightened by a good three-quarters of its initial weight.

As for Ranma and Akane? They missed all of it. The two were sharing Friday afternoon in detention, for falling asleep in the middle of history class.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Yo, Fangboy."

"STOP CALLING ME P--" the Lost Boy whipped around snarling, then paused, thoughts skidding into neutral, as a girl sauntered up the sidewalk towards him.

"Stop calling you P- what?" An eyebrow shot up on Nabiki's forehead.

"P--p--p-p--" His eyes darted around guiltily as he hemmed and hawed, "P-p-p-p-p--" finally stammering out, "Plebeian."

The Tendo girl blinked once, ever so slowly.

"O-kay."

"Could you tell me, uh," Ryoga scratched the back of his neck, unsubtly attempting to change the subject. "Where the Unryuu--"

"Hold onto that thought. I've got something for you."

He took the envelope from her, the innocent-seeming letter held between his forefinger and thumb, eyeballing it as if it were a rattlesnake poised to strike.

"This looks like a wedding invitation," the bandannaed boy finally said.

"Gee, you're a lot smarter than you look. Guess that comes from not being p-p-p-plebeian, right?"

He snorted. "I'm afraid I won't be able to attend."

"Suit yourself," the middle Tendo sister shrugged. "But Akane will be _so_ dissapointed if you don't come."

"Akane-san," Ryoga whispered, eyes aglitter in the perfect Pavlovian response. A moment later he shook his head vigorously. No! She was no longer his to dream about. Especially not now. "Give them my congratulations. I'd just like to know where the Unryuu farm--"

But Nabiki had already disappeared.

"--is."

He stood there, staring into the empty streets of darkening Nerima, the unopened letter hanging limply from his hand.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"NEVER!" Bellowed the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High. "I will NEVER allow that wretched Saotome to enslave the beauteous Akane Tendo in this farce!"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Hmmmm . . . If Ranma-sama is to be married, then this bride must prepare her gown post-haste."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Soun Tendo giggled at the infallibility of what henceforth became known as Plan 532. He knew Akane would go for it, after all, there was nothing like a little bribery to ensure a happy home. And once Ranma saw how beautiful his daughter looked in the wedding dress, he'd undoubtedly go for it as well.

"Oh, my little girl is going to be married," he sobbed, curled in a fetal position as he gently cradled the casket with _Nannichuan_ printed on the label in his arms.

=====----[ **m.any miles away, s.omething crawls to the surface **

**                o.f a dark jusenkyo pond **]-----=====-----=====-----=====

The recently receded waters in the valley of the cursed springs stood absolutely still in the light of the three-quarter moon, as if the entire valley were holding its breath.

A hand broke through the surface of the water, skin shimmering pale against the rippling black of the pond. It scrabbled frantically against the edge of the grass before finally finding purchase on the bankhead. A second arm then shot out of the water and in the natural illumination, dragged the body of a woman to shore. Coughing and sputtering, she flopped back against the grass next to the pond, breasts heaving with the rise and fall of her chest.

After a moment, she sat up and looked down, inspecting her figure under ghostly illumination. Hands drifted up her legs, over her stomach, cupping breasts, then dropped to the sides. She shook violently, then closed her eyes, willing the tremors to go away. 

She slipped on the robe that she had discarded earlier. It hung loosely on her frame, the edges dragging on the ground. Picking up the wine jug from the ground, she fastened it onto her belt beside her fan and shook the moisture out of her close-cropped hair. 

With slow, unsure steps, the woman walked out of Jusenkyo.

=====----=====-----[ **n.erima on impact** ]----=====-----=====

"Akane, could you come in here for a moment?"

The girl in question paused with her hand above the doorknob of her father's room, then narrowed her eyes. "Otosan," she growled. "You'd better not be planning to knock me out and stuff me into that kimono again."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. There's just something I'd like to show you."

A moment of hesitation. "No kimonos then?"

"No kimonos."

She waffled. After all, she wasn't completely stupid. "You promise?"

"I promise."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Ranma, could you come in here for a moment?"

The boy in question paused in front of the guest room and narrowed his eyes. "Damn oyaji," he snarled. "You better not have Akane knocked out and stuffed in a kimono in there."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. There's just something I'd like to show you."

A moment of hesitation. "No kimonos then?"

"No kimonos."

He waffled. After all, he wasn't completely stupid. "You promise?"

"I promise."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"That - that's-- "

"It's your wedding gift, Akane."

"My WHAT?!"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Yo, pops, whaddaya--"

_**WHAM**_

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Watch the store for a little while, will you? I'm going upstairs to get dressed."

"Of course, Ukyo-sama!" The kunoichi cheerfully replied, then turned to the glutinous mass in the bowl the okonomiyaki chef had labeled "special celebratory recipe."

It appeared to have an abnormally thick constituency. The color seemed to be just a little off as well, Konatsu surmised, as he thoughtfully stirred the batter. But of course, what with the wedding and his mistress trying to be so noble, so brave, it was expected that she would be somewhat distracted.

He poured in water, stirring the mix until it was of recognizable consistency (well, perhaps a _smidgen_ thinner than what was usually served). When he was done, the resulting mixture had produced four times the initial amount.

"Ukyo-sama will be so proud of me!" the ninja gushed, placing the three other full bowls into the refrigerator.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Four exploding foodstuffs.

Three beaus in-waiting.

Two weeping fathers.

And one pigtailed girl cratered in the floor.

It could not have gone any better had she had more than a mere day to plan the whole shebang. Heck, Nabiki wished it could have been immortalized in a painting to hang up on her wall. This was her Mona Lisa, her Guernica, her Starry Sky, her--

"KUNO!" Snarled the bride-to-be. "Get the hell away from--"  Akane slumped, bringing a hand to her temple as the room spun in a frantic whirlwind about her.

_    ( Stumbling._

_            Falling._

_                        Plunging._

_                                    Can't swim--can't--breathe--can't-- )_

Nabiki watched on in horror as her little sister collapsed to the dojo floor.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Unconsciousness wasn't such a bad thing, really.

At least not for Ranma, who was happily dreaming at the moment. And it was such a fascinating dream in a place, where things like exploding dim sum didn't exist and the dojo hadn't been trampled by several hundred people, and a certain someone was still in that pretty wedding dress. No, check, it was now after the ceremony that he couldn't remember any of, but she was wearing a little less of it now and was just getting to the more interesting aspects of what happened afterwards . . . CAKE! Yummy! He was just about to shovel another huge mouthful of icing and angel's food cake into his mouth--

"Wakey wakey, Saotome."

--when a cold splash brought him abruptly out of a most intriguing turn of events.

"Wha--how--whuh--?" Ranma-chan's eyes snapped open to the darkened ceiling of the demolished dojo.

"Looked like you were having a little too much fun there." An ominous voice filtered out through the pitch, followed by the metallic *plunk* of a bucket being dropped. The pigtailed girl craned her neck around until she locked on to its source.

Perched on the edge of the table that held the remnants of dream-delicious wedding cake, the shadowed figure hovered over Ranma with all the warmth and comfort of a stone gargoyle.

The boy-turned-girl sat up and winced at what felt like a chainsaw rip through her head. "Nabiki, what--"

"Just shut up and listen, Ranma," the middle Tendo sister clipped in a tone that could have created ice cubes. "You mooch off of us without contributing a thing. I can deal with that. You and your little friends destroy our home on a regular basis. I suppose some of its inevitable. It doesn't even matter that you parade around your little girlfriends in front of Akane like some pimp daddy with a harem." She shook her head. "I've accepted the fact that ever since you've shown up, trouble's followed you around like an unwanted relative. I've even dealt with the all the threats, brainwashings and kidnappings of my little sister, but then I had to hear -not even from either of you but from someone else- that you got Akane _killed_ in China?"

"It ain't like that," Ranma swallowed. "I don't even know how she ended up there!"

"And I suppose it had absolutely nothing to do with you, right?  You sound just like a certain someone we both know." Looking around, Nabiki spotted a discarded beach ball and hopped off the table. She picked it up, hefting it up and down in her right hand. "I guess it was inevitable, after all. Like father, like son. Too bad you didn't fall into the same spring as he did."

The pigtailed girl stared at her for a long moment, then, as the floor splintered under her fist, leapt to her feet shouting, "I ain't nuthin' like pops!"

"Are you so sure about that? Take a look at yourself. Take a look at everything that's happened over the past year and a half. And then ask yourself if you really are any better than that panda."

The middle Tendo sister tossed the ball at the boy-turned-girl. It bounced three times on the ground before rolling towards Ranma's feet.

"Make no doubts about it, Saotome, I will protect my family. Even from you." Nabiki dusted her hands off, her footsteps creaking on the floor all the way to the shoji doors. "So either get your act together, or get out."

Ranma watched the shadows once again engulf the girl as the doors slid shut, then dropped her gaze down at her hands, blackened from the soot, the damp and ripped sleeves of the now ill-fitting suit hanging over small, dirty palms. 

"Ain't nuthin' like him . . . "


	4. a.ftermath

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.4]**

=====----=====-----====----====

It was a beautiful Monday morning. The sun beamed generously down upon the earth, uninterrupted by any stratum of clouds. 

Cooking rice burbled in the steamer in the Tendo kitchen as Kasumi happily hummed to herself, bustling about in preparation for breakfast. Across town, many other households also enjoyed this quiet, uninterrupted morning.

Several blocks down the street, the smell of okonomiyaki wafted through the air, its rich pungent smells, drifting dreamily through the air.

On the other side of the prefecture, the delicious aroma of roasted meats and fresh simmering vegetables added to the buffet of odors wafting through Nerima.

The residents of the prefecture stepped out of their houses, blinking unsteadily as if unused to this strangely calm morning. As body after body stepped out onto the porch, they glanced at each other, unasked questions filling the air just as surely as the scents of morning. Perhaps drawn by some inexplicable force, all eyes eventually flitted over to eerily still Tendo dojo. As if by unspoken agreement, the people calmy stepped back into their houses and sounds of every deadbolt in the neighborhood slamming shut echoed through the neighborhood.

The dojo's neighbors prayed to their ancestor tablets for deliverance and waited in hushed anxiety with chairs propped up against front doors for the inevitable hell to break loose.

Because _nothing _this good ever lasts.

=====----=====-----====----====

"Okay, Konatsu. What we're going to do first is assess your strengths and weaknesses," Genma began. "Find out what you're good at and where you need to improve."

"I'm so excited!" The kunoichi clapped his hands in delight.

"Just like old times, eh Saotome?" Soun stood on the other side of the ninja, rotating his left shoulder in a warm-up.

"Just like old times, Tendo."

Genma cracked his knuckles, eyeing the svelte figure clad in patched black before him. He would make a real man out of the effeminate ninja yet if it killed the girl. Boy. He sighed. Whatever.

=====----=====-----====----====

Ordinarily, Ranma would have enjoyed watching the resultant carnage, but other things had taken up haunt in his mind for the moment. The pigtailed boy sat in the dining room casting surreptitious worried glances at girl blearily picking at her food next to him. For the past few days, Akane had been in a state of perpetual lassitude, to the point of where even deliberately provoking her resulted in little more than momentary bursts of ire followed by a long, attention-diverting yawn.

The sounds of several explosions echoed through the yard and a burnt-and-blackened Soun flew by the door, howling and frantically wiping ruby-red lipmarks from his face.

"You're looking kind of wiped there, little sis," voiced Nabiki, the tip of her chopsticks paused at the edge of her lower lip.

Akane merely shrugged and continued to absently stir her miso soup.

Just then, a screaming Genma went running in the opposite direction towards the Koi pond, wildly batting at the flames crackling on his head and back of his gi.

The middle Tendo sister's eyes drifted over to Ranma, who studiously avoided her gaze.

Finally, a frazzled and lipstick-sprinkled panda staggered into the Tendo home with Soun slumped facedown over one shoulder. Littering the trail behind him lay bits and pieces of paper, kitchen utensils, and a miscellaneous array of pointed objects. 

['I think I'm going to be sick'] A sign bearing freshly leaking kana wedged itself in the doorway before Genma dropped the dead weight to the floor. The Tendo patriarch fell on his back, his index, thumb and pinky extended from both hands, hair stuck out like a spiked urchin, and soot-and-smooch covered face pursed in goggle-eyed horror.

"Can't imagine you lookin' any manlier pops," Ranma snickered. "Though that shade of lipstick don't match you at all."

The panda glared balefully at the boy, then plopped down and began picking at the shurikens, bills, coupons and chopsticks imbedded in its fur.

Konatsu bounded into the room, clasping his hands in front of him as he hopped up and down on his toes, cooing, "That was so much fun, Saotome-san, Tendo-san! Thank you for the training session. I'm beginning to feel somewhat manly already!"

['Uh, no problem']

The kunoichi glanced up at the clock. "Ukyo-sama will be going to school soon. I must to return to the shop."

The damp and smelly ball of fur growfed and yelped when Ranma yanked a couple of slightly bent throwing spatulas out of its head. "Better get these back before she misses 'em, Konatsu."

In a cloud of smoke and kisses, the ninja vanished.

=====----=====-----====----[ **a.ftermath **]----====----=====-----=====

The youngest Tendo daughter unsuccessfully tried to suppress a series of yawns as she trudged down the street towards Furinkan. Akane made no comment as Ranma walked closely beside her instead of his usual position on the fence. Normally she would have immediately become suspicious (after all, you couldn't be related to Nabiki without picking up at least a few things), but-- the stream was cut off by another yawn and she tiredly rubbed her eyes, dropping errant thoughts from her mind as a familiar form at the gates of Furinkan slid into view.

She heard knuckles crack behind her and paused to let the pigtailed boy pass as the sempai drew his bokken -no, wait- the glint of metal flashing in the sunlight revealed the same sword Kuno had brought to the aborted wedding. Evidently he had not given it up just yet. Well, it wasn't as if it mattered. Wood or steel, the upperclassman still couldn't touch Ranma. Sure it was about as challenging as beating up a--a -*yawn*- . . . a really unchallenging person, but a fight with Kuno would at least distract him, if only momentarily, then maybe he wouldn't be so annoyingly hovering around her like some . . . annoying hovering . . . thing. Lack of sleep was distinctly wreaking havoc with her similes, reflected Akane sourly.

Then a wave of almost unbearable nausea hit, a flash of being submerged, of struggling against the pulling waters. She gasped and stumbled, nearly stumbling face-forward to the asphalt.

_            water.everywhere.scrambling.swim,swim, havetoswim.struggling.fighting.  _

_            cantbreathecantbreathecant--;drowning-in-a-hue-of-blue.sky-closing-over-her-head. _

_            dying.flailing.dying.sinking._

_            dying,_

_            dying,_

_            dying . . . _

The girl folded, trying to gasp, to force air into her chest, unsuccessfully hyperventilating through frozen lungs. She thought that it might have been Yuka screaming her name, gripping onto her arm, but she couldn't hear much over the roar of the water in her ears.

"Akane!" 

Ranma's head jerked up in the middle of an aerial kick meant to imbed itself into the sempai's oft-mangled mug, just in time to see the object of Yuka's scream collapse to her knees with one hand pressed to her throat. Momentarily frozen by the distraction, the martial artist lost his position and midair momentum. Flailing for a better landing, he thrust his legs out out, trying to regain balance, but Kuno had also reacted to the shout and snapped his head towards the source of the yell. Ranma's right foot slammed into the upperclassman's left shoulder, wrenching the taller boy around and spinning the katana out of suddenly nerveless fingers, straight towards the girl.

"-ch out!" came the shout from the pigtailed boy, even as his other foot landed in the middle of Kuno's forehead. Using the kendoist's skull as a springboard, he launched himself towards his fiancee, panic adding extra speed to his forward momentum. One arm wrapped around her waist and swung her away from the glittering edge as it passed by her head. With his left foot, he kicked the flat of the blade so it spun vertically, hilt up, then drove his heel down against the pommel, slamming the point straight down into the ground. The hilt quivered as the crosspiece smacked dirt.

"-ay attention, -upid!" the boy yelled, as he brought the both of them around in a full circle. "You coulda bee-" Words drowned in the waves as a slight line on the right side of Akane's neck began to form, then blossom. The girl beneath the waters barely reacted to the sudden displacement in the universe, not even the bite across her neck shook her from stupor, until he was there in her face, yelling in garbled fragments of words.

And then he was silent. Frozen. Pupils pinpointed where the blade had kissed her.

Akane brought her hand up to the place where it began to sting in the open air and gazed uncomprehending at the smudge of red adorning her fingertips.

Ranma stood there, welded in stone, staring the stain against her neck, seeing yet another drop pulse up ever so delicately and trickle a line down the inner corded groove by her throat to spread against the white collar of her uniform.

Before anyone could utter a word, he leapt over the walls of Furinkan high, the girl in his arms, and vanished.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Honestly, Ranma, it was an accident," Akane gesticulated helplessly to the pigtailed boy pacing restlessly back and forth across the room. She winced slightly as Dr. Tofu carefully applied a topical adhesive to her neck. "I wasn't in any danger at all."

"Actually," came the chiropractor's mild interruption. "You were very lucky. Any deeper, or even at a slightly different angle, and your jugular might have been pierced. The Dermabond will hold for a while, but you should visit your physician to see if you need stiches." Holding her chin in place as he waited for the skin glue to dry, he studied the girl before him. "You look tired as well. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Not really," she admitted. 

Tofu frowned, peering closer at her, or rather, at something in the air about her.

Ranma paused in the middle of his pacing to shoot him a glance. "What's wrong, doc?"

"It's just that her ki seems weak." He adjusted his glasses thoughtfully. "Almost diminished somehow."

"Well, I have been having some strange dreams," the girl said quietly.

"Oh? What have they been about?"

"It's always--" she glanced up at Ranma and lowered her eyes. "It's probably nothing important."

They both watched Akane settle into silence, her fingers twined absently in the folds of her skirt.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Will you stop hovering? It's really starting to creep me out."

Akane rubbed her temples in irritation as her fiance zigzagged behind her, alternating between annoying her over her left shoulder and annoying her over her right as they trod back to Furinkan. "Why didn't you tell Doc Tofu 'bout your dreams?" Left. "Why didn't you tell *me*?" Right. 

"Because they're just stupid dreams and you'd probably just laugh."

"You mean like that stupid dream that almost got your head cut off just now?" Left again. "Yeah. Real funny there." Sulking to the right.

"Look," she turned to Ranma who skidded to a stop to keep from plowing into the girl. "It's probably just delayed post-traumatic stress or whatever they call it and I'm sure it's not a big deal and will just go away in a few-- and you're not even paying attention!" Akane huffed.

No indeed, the pigtailed boy was looking over her shoulder at the figure bent over an imbedded katana panting and grunting in exertion as he tried to draw the sword out of the ground. Unlike Arthur Pendragon, however, the bokken wielder was failing miserably in all efforts.

"Vile sorceror," the ashen-faced sempai stood, huffing hoarsely as he unfolded upwards. "Because of your despicable actions, I must--"

He never got to finish, as a blur propelled him into the stone wall surrounding Furinkan's gate. Fissures crept out in a slow spiderweb from where his back impacted against the rock. Though Tatewaki Kuno was nearly four inches taller than Ranma, the smaller boy wrapped his left hand like a loving python around his neck, dangling the upperclassman a few precarious inches off the ground.

"You. Bastard -" 

_**CRACK**_

The voice was a barely strangled whisper, every word or so interspersed with the slight wrist snap of using the Kuno's head as the pestle to the wall's mortar.

"Wasn't" _**CRACK**_ "-nuff-" _**CRACK**_ "-you-" _**CRACK**_ "-brought it-" _**CRACK**_ "-then-"

_**CRACK**_ "-Had-" _**CRACK**_ "-to bring-" _**CRACK**_ "-here-" _**CRACK**_ "-too!"

He raised his arm to full extension, drawing Kuno higher off the ground. His fingers tightened. With one quick flick of his thumb, it would be so simple to just push and--

"-nma, stop!" The pigtailed boy blinked, then turned, as her voice somehow pierced through the cotton in his ears. "Please. Just stop," Akane whispered. "Let's just go home."

Whatever fueled Ranma's fury drained almost visibly out of his body as he sucked in a long shuddering breath through his teeth. His hand went slack, unceremoniously dropping Kuno to the ground, turning away as the kendoist's head bounced limply against the grass.

The crowd of students that had gathered to gape parted like the Red Sea as Ranma followed the girl out of Furinkan. Passing by the imbedded sword, he paused. Then his left foot angrily shot out, snapping off whatever was sticking out from the ground from the remainder that lay flush in the dirt.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Tatewaki Kuno woke up in the infirmary to the strange feeling of his back pocket being lightened.

"So you're finally up, Kuno-chan," a voice began conversationally. "You know, you made a big, big mistake this morning."

He rose as indignantly as one could with a neck brace on to face the girl perched next to him on the bed. "Nabiki Tendo," he grated swollenly through vocal cords that sounded like they'd been scoured with a brillo pad. "What wretched creature hath perpetrated such an injustice upon this form?"

"Oh, come on," the middle Tendo sister yawned. "Who else beats the snot out of you on a regular basis?"

His neck brace attempted to tilt to the left, then to the right as he actively cogitated that brainteaser over. After a long moment: "That vile sorceror Saotome must have--"

"That vile sorceror Saotome hath done you a favor, Kuno-chan. Because what I had planned was infinitely worse than the ass-beating you received today for your stupidity. I mean, bringing a *sword* to school?"

"The Kuno blade hath served for generations of mine family as symbol of its honor. It is only righteous to wield against such a magnitude of--"

His speech choked off abruptly as Nabiki lifted the broken hilt of the blade. "You mean this thing? I'm afraid the Kuno family honor is suffering a little setback at the moment." She then stood up, casually dropping the bit of wrapped steel onto his chest. "But don't think you've gotten off that easily, Tatewaki. I'm still going to hurt you." The kendoist's expression etched in confusion at her abnormal usage of his name, at least until leather smacked painfully into his face, and he looked up to see the girl tallying up his wallet's former contents. "Consider this as down payment."

She left the sempai stare at the remains of his blade and his now bereft wallet. Opening the door of the infirmary, Nabiki walked into a swirling cluster of fluttering rose petals and the painted hauteur of the Black Rose.

"Tell me, peasant, who did this?"

"Why, were you planning a little retribution?"

The other girl grimaced, then assumed her former pose. "Though I am loathe to admit to sharing the same blood as Tatchi, and I would rather bestow upon them a medal, lineage obligates me to extract certain measures for injustices visited upon my family."

"Your precious Ranma-sama did it. Still want revenge?"

The gymnast cocked her head to one side thoughtfully, then to the other, in an genetically familiar motion, internally weighing all the factors before coming to a logical conclusion.

"If Ranma-sama deemed it fit to mete out such a punishment, then it was most likely wholly deserved."

"You bet it was."

Kodachi opened the door slightly and tossed a bored, cursory glance inside, before shutting it again.

"Very well, commoner, I shall let this one pass for now."

"Kodachi." The St. Hebereke girl paused in mid-leap formation, swiveling an upturned nose around. "Granted, you're not exactly the freshest cookie in the bag," the middle Tendo daughter began. "But DESPITE certain appearances and great deal of evidence to the contrary, you seem to have a better grasp on reality than Ranma's other . . . women."

"Comparing me to those harlots does me a great disservice. I am not as oblivious as my brother, nor do I have the fortitude for that sort of humiliation. I know Ranma-sama does not care for me in that way, though I can't possibly fathom the reason. Am I not more skilled with controlled narcotics than the Amazon witch? Do I not use a better and more dangerous variety of weapons than the okonomiyaki chef? Can I not deal more exquisite pain and suffering than the harridan you call your sister?"

"Right. Can't imagine why." The other girl wiped a drop of sweat from her brow. "But why do you even bother? Why did you show up to the wedding in that dress?"

"Just because Ranma-sama's god-like countenance is not mine to have doesn't mean I cannot play with the goods in the meantime. Besides," The taller girl scanned the hall for witnesses before leaning conspiratorially towards Nabiki. "He's quite fun to tease."

"Yeah, I suppose he is."

The gymnast rose, ribbons twirling in the air. Then paused, whipping her head back.

"Peasant. If you're going to loot my brother's wallet . . . " The other girl froze. "You should know his credit cards are worth much more." And with a spine-chilling laugh accompanied by a burst of ebony petals, the Black Rose was gone.

Kodachi, Nabiki mulled. Who'd have thought?

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

If okonomiyaki were art, Ukyo Kuonji would be painting entire galleries of Red Skelton crying clowns. Where smiley faces or the symbol for 'luck' or even cutesy interlocking hearts for the couples that came in to dine were her usual signature, that special touch that made Ucchans stand out from the others, everything the chef created recently wound up as depressing abstract art.

"Uh, miss?" One customer looked up from the artful arrangement of shrimp, egg and vegetables that bore more than a passing resemblance to a Cubist's Blue Period. "What is this?"

Another regular glanced from his Salvador Dali ebi-tamayaki over to the sad navy strokes that decorated the plate next to his. "I believe that's Picasso's '_La Vie_'," the connoiseur commented helpfully, "Quite stunning in the way she shaped that curl of onion to resemble the nose, don't you think?"

"I guess."

The okonomiyaki chef simply went through the motions of grilling absently on as unshed trappings of angst swam furiously through her guilt-ridden mind. Ukyo always thought she'd eventually win the race for Ranchan's heart through sheer perseverance, superior culinary skills, and the pronounced principles of general cuteness; that the silly boy would snap to his senses one day and recognize her for the true paragon she was.

And yet, when news of the impending wedding came about, hand delivered by her greatest rival's very own sister, all patience, perseverance and logic went straight out the window, replaced by blind, unmitigated rage. Next thing she knew, she'd mixed enough unstable compounds to reduce the Tendo dojo to an unsightly smudge on Nerima's map.

How could she have been so stupid? She couldn't believe what she'd tried to do. What she DID do.

All those years of anger, revenge festering in her soul, all the years of pent up fury and betrayal let out when she'd tracked the Saotomes to Nerima. She'd beat the ever-living shit out of Genma, and boy did she enjoy every single pain-inflicting moment. But still, she couldn't kill the man who destroyed her life.

Yet at that wedding she'd happily lobbed those explosives about, trying to blot out the bride-to-be.

A girl whose crime was to be born to the right family.

A girl who'd considered her . . . a friend?

The only saving grace was that when she hadn't been looking, the kunoichi had cut her mixture to less than a quarter of their initial concentration.

But this morning she'd seen it. She'd seen everything, and never, even during their first fights, had she ever seen Ranchan this furious before. He was angry. Truly angry. Full-blooded, murderously angry.

And standing there, hidden among the gawking masses of the Furinkan crowd, that tiny niggle of self-doubt had festered into flown blown wild speculation as she wondered:

-If Konatsu hadn't diluted her explosives

-If she'd actually hit her intended target

Would he have turned on her as well?

"Konatsu?" The okonomiyaki chef finally spoke, as the last of the late-afternoon customers cleared out of the shop.

The ninja looked up from clearing dishes from the counter. "Yes, Ukyo-sama?"

"Am--am I a bad person?"

"Of course not!" Shocked. "You are the most generous, caring, sweet, kind, selfless, wonderful human being I've ever known."

She flinched as each fatuous compliment twisted the knife further in her, leaving her guts hollow and empty like a brutally cored apple.

"But I'm not," she whispered. "I'm not caring or kind or selfless or any of that. I've made some really big mistakes."

"Everybody makes mistakes, Ukyo-sama." The kunoichi brightened. "In fact there's even a--"

"Please. No showtunes. Just not right now."

Konatsu self-consciously tucked his microphone away.

"Shoplifting's a mistake. Joyriding's a mistake. I tried to kill someone, Konatsu. It's not the type of mistake most people tend to make. I mean it's not as if you've ever--" she paused as the ebullient, sweet smile on the his face faltered for a nanosecond. "I mean--You've never killed . . . anybody . . . right?"

It could have been an illusion or perhaps her imagination because as her eyelids lifted again from an involuntary blink, that smile he always wore was there again.

"Oh, Ukyo-sama, talk of such matters will only upset you," he giggled, then, as if she'd never asked, gathered up the trash, and with his box of matches, silently padded back through the kitchen.

A few moments later, two sharp snaps of phosphorus striking sandpaper, followed by the hiss of combustibles igniting echoed from the alley.

Over the static hiss and pops of burning garbage, the soft timbre of a voice drifted through the early evening.

Ukyo paused in scrubbing the grill. Slowly tilting her head to the side, she stilled her hand on the scraper, and drifted into the back. Cracking the door open slightly, she watched the profile of Konatsu glowing orange and blue in the burning firelight as he hummed to himself sans his ubiquitous microphone and karaoke machine, a lone alto accompanied only by the crackle of the consuming bonfire.

            _'Hard to see the light now_

_             Just don't let it go._

_             Things will come out right now_

_             We can make it so._

_             Soneone is on your side,_

_             No one is alone._'

=====----=====-----====----====

Everything Konatsu knows he learned from musicals:

_No One is Alone_, Into the Woods, Stephen Sondheim


	5. f.ight or flight

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.5]**

=====----=====-----====----====

The koi pond rippled in rings of agitation as a smooth, round rock skipped in quadruple succession over the surface of the water before plunking heavily into its depths. It bristled in wavy hiccups for several moments before the shattered diamonds of setting sunlight slowly reassembled themselves into the flickering reflection of a pigtailed boy crouched at the rock-rimmed edge.

He huddled there, silently waiting, watching the fish sliding silkily through the mossy water. One orange-and-white spotted koi dashed away as the reverse image of Nodoka loomed over the surface behind him.

"What's wrong, son?"

A long gap of silence passed before he muttered, "Nuthin'."

"Something is disturbing you. If you can't talk to your mother, who can you talk to?"

A light breeze lapped across the water, shimmering the dual images of the boy and the woman into obscurity, before clarifying. Nodoka knelt by her son, patiently waiting. After a few more moments, he finally spoke.

"I lost it today," the pigtailed boy said dully. "I coulda really hurt someone." He took a long, shaking breath. "I almost killed Kuno, mom. I mighta if--if--" fragments of syllables stuttered back into silence.

"You father has taught you the craft well, and for that, I can truly call you manly. But being a man is not only just about the art. It is also about responsibility and accountability, for which, I am afraid he has woefully neglected your education in."

"Huh?" The boy elaborated.

"What does being a martial artist mean to you?"

"Being the best!"

"And when a student wishes to learn from you so he can become a thug with his skill, will you teach him how to be the best?"

"Hell no! That ain't what the art's about."

"Then what is it about?"

"It--it--," he struggled. "Well it ain't beating other people up for no reason."

"Why not?"

"Cause it ain't honorable."

"Are you a better martial artist than this Kuno?"

"Hell yeah! Bokken-brain can't touch me on his best day."

"Then why did you attack him?"

"I don't know. I saw him and I got so mad. I mean, Akane's standing there with glue holding her together and he's yelling about that stupid, freaking sword and I just went off. And--and then I was hitting him. I was just hitting him and hitting him-- I kept on hitting and I couldn't stop-- I just wanted to keep pounding, pounding on Kuno until--." 

Silence captured his throat again, suffocating the rest of his words.

Nodoka put a hand to her son's cheek. "Until you stopped. You were angry, that's all. You were angry and you lost control for little while, but then you stopped."

He stared down at his knuckles, "But I almost did. I wanted to, I wanted so badly to--god!"

Cupping Ranma's face in both of her hands, she tilted his head up, to her. "You didn't kill Kuno. The only thing that makes you a killer is killing, and you didn't kill anyone, my son."

The boy unfolded himself from the bank and abruptly stood, turning away from his mother.

"I gotta take a walk," was all he said before disappearing over the Tendo gates.

=====----[ **f.ight or flight** ]-----=====

Fight or flight.

An instinct inherent in all creatures. In terms of Darwinism, elemental to the matter of survival.

Adrenline pumped into one pigtailed boy's legs like high-octane gasoline as he hopped off signs, rooftops, fences and tree branches in a directionless trek across Nerima. Wasn't it always like that? When the chips were down, Ranma Saotome could always be counted on to do what he did best: fold like a bad hand of cards and run.

Just like pops.

'_The only thing that makes you a killer is killing._' mom had tried to reassure him. Of course she'd think that. She hadn't known about Jusendo. Even his stupid oyaji had been circumspect about the whole thing when they'd returned. No one knew what had happened up in China except for the ones who had been there. 

Killing made you a killer.

Was that why it had been so easy this morning?

Because he'd already killed?

The landscape whizzed by faster as he stepped up the pace in his flight.

He'd torn apart Saffron because Akane was dying.

He almost took off Kuno's head because Akane'd gotten injured.

It didn't matter what he did or didn't do --she always, inevitably, got hurt in the process.

Nabiki was right. It was his fault. Everything was his fault.

Fight or flight.

He had taken that most basic instinct and carved it into an artform.

Really, he only one choice. 

He had to leave.

Leave and never return.

He could go off somewhere to train. Somewhere where he would never be found. China was a nice, big place you could get lost in forever. And she-- she would eventually forget him.

Fight or flight.

He chose flight.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

The Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku thoughtfully stirred the contents of soup stock over the stove in preparation for the next morning's rush, internally wrestling with a dilemma that took the shape of a certain pigtailed martial artist.

Though Cologne was not opposed to having Ranma's powerful genes father future generations of Amazons, the old warrior was not particulary enamored of his propensity towards attracting wanton property destruction as the Tendos evidently were. An involuntary shudder ran through her as she imagined the Musk, the Phoenix, Happosai and Taro simultaneously converging upon the Joketsuzoku. Bloodline be damned, there was a reason why property values in Nerima were at the bottom of the scale.

She also knew the Saotome child would not make a good husband for Shampoo. He was too strong, too brash, willful and independent. Which, unfortunately, was precisely the thing her great-granddaughter found so attractive about the boy. And what Shampoo wanted, kiss of death or kiss of marriage, she always, inevitably, got.

Problem was, Ranma was a regular prude. He'd managed to resist several millenia of carefully honed Amazon persuasion with unprecedented, shocking success. If the old bag didn't know better she'd have sworn the boy had somewhere along the way fallen into the Taijianniichuan as well.

Cologne had to admit, though, teaching him was a joy. He reveled in the art like no other, gloried in the pursuit of mastering a new form. He lived, breathed, slept and thought the art. He cared for little else.

Except for the girl.

The girl, the girl, the girl was a puzzle. She wasn't the most beautiful, the most fit, or the most talented. Though the matriarch would admit the child was a good notch beyond 'average,' her own great granddaughter and even the okonomiyaki chef were most certainly not lacking by comparison.

And then came the group's return from Jusendo.

"Pervert Girl very strong," were the only words her great granddaughter uttered. She'd been in a funk ever since.

But if what Mousse said were true, it would be simple to let Jusenkyo complete its natural course and have it take Akane Tendo. The path to the Joketsuzoku would then lay open to them.

Yes. To let the girl die in this manner would have been simple, with no one the wiser.

Then she saw him enter the Nekohanten.

And for the first time, she didn't see her Mukodono, future contribution to the Amazon gene pool; didn't see the arrogant, brash young warrior who didn't just survive the fury of a god but managed to kill him as well.

She only saw a boy.

A scared, seventeen year old boy.

Dropping the ladle in the pot, the Matriarch switched off the stove and bounded on her staff to the vacant dining area. She threw a sideways glance at the figure of Shampoo silently sweeping the floor who, deep in her preoccupation, hadn't even bothered to look up.

"Are you forgetting something, great-granddaughter?"

The lavender-locked Amazon blinked and snapped her gaze towards her hibachan, whose grizzled chin twitched towards the entrance. Blinking again, purple eyes flickered in the direction of the nod towards Ranma. Then back at her hibachan. Then back at--

Oh yeah.

"Airen come date Shampoo!"

_*GLOMP*_

"DIE SAOTOME!"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Now that we've gotten the preliminaries out of the way," Cologne motioned as Ranma seated himself at a table, absently picking throwing knives out of his hair.

Shampoo felt much more relaxed now, even to the point of humming to herself as she cheerfully swept the main area, piling up the dust and trash around the crumpled and battered form of Mousse cold-stamped into the floor.

"What brings you here this time of evening, Mukodono?"

The pigtailed boy pressed a tired palm against his forehead, then shook the chain from his wrist. "Just been walkin' around a bit."

"Oh? I thought you came to ask me about Jusenkyo." The hand against his brow paused as his eyes flickered up at the old crone. "Has the girl started having nightmares yet? Seizures?"

Ranma rubbed the knuckle of one finger against the corner of his left eye. "Yeah. I guess."

"You guess?"

Hackles raised. "It's not like she ever tells me anything."

"When did they start?" pressed Cologne.

The pigtailed boy scratched his head. "Not sure. But she was starting to look kinda haggard a day or so before the weddin'."

Finishing with her rounds, the purple-haired girl pondered the pile of waste lumped around the unconscious Amazon. Then, inspiration struck and she lifted the sleeve of Mousse's robe, carefully swept the trash inside, and dropped the limp limb back to the floor.

"And the waters had receded by then for that cask of Nannichuan to be flown in. I gather the brief respite has something to do with the disruption in the water's mainflow. Now that it's stabilized, it's taking care of unfinished business."

"Unfinished business," he echoed.

"The girl belongs to Jusenkyo now. It may have let her go earlier, not by choice, but now that things are functioning again, it wants her back."

"She mentioned dreams, and she was choking and actin' like she was--" Ranma studied the tablecloth with dull intent as comprehension slowly trickled in. "She's been having nightmares about drowning." Raising his eyes, he fixed them on Cologne. "Well, there's a way to fix it right? So whaddo I hafta do?"

"There's not much you *can* do, Son-in-Law. It's the way the Drowning Springs work."

Ranma hopped out of his seat and and onto the table. "You said nothing happened at that time because Jusenkyo was all messed up, right?"

"I assume that was the cause of the delay."

"Then that means all I have to do is mess it up again. Or make it so it don't exist no more. Wouldn't that do the same thing?"

"You may be on to something there, mukodono, but how do you plan to find 'it' in time?"

He shrugged. "I don't need to find nuthin' if I wipe 'em all out."

Shampoo snapped her head towards the conversing pair.

"Airen, what about--?" A barely perceptible shake of her hibachan's head silenced her.

"Even the nannichuan?" the matriarch challenged.

". . . If I gotta do it, I gotta do it."

"There are over three hundred springs, boy."

Ranma leapt off the table and landed in front of the door. "Then I'd better get a move on."

Cologne lifted her hand. "I may have a better alternative. Bring the girl here tomorrow and I'll see what I can do."

The pigtailed boy nodded curtly and left as abruptly as he'd entered.

"Why are you helping him?" Mousse queried, gingerly prying his face from the linoleum after Ranma had vacated the premises.

"What? Can't I do something nice for someone else?"

"Someone else, maybe. You usually have an agenda." He blinked, suddenly noticing odd bulge in his right sleeve and shook it with some trepidation. A giant dustbunny rolled out onto the floor.

The bespectacled boy cast a suspicious glance at Shampoo, whose only rejoinder was an innocent whistle as she casually slinked upstairs.

"You would have probably told the boy anyway, am I right? Let's just call this a bit of strategic preemption." Cologne watched the form of her great-granddaughter vanish into the darkened recesses of the stairwell, before turning to the Amazon male. "I helped Ranma because he's going to fail. And when he fails, he's going to need someone to turn to."

Mousse limped over to a nearby dustbin and carefully shook the remaining trash from his sleeve into it.

"You don't understand. You weren't there. Jusendo changed everybody. Saotome's going to come back with her or he won't come back at all."

=====----=====-----====----====

Jusenkyo.

Of course it had to be Jusenkyo. It was always that damned Jusenkyo.

Ranma had never hated anything more. That cursed valley had ruined his life. Ryoga's. Shampoo's. Mousse's. And now it slowly killing Akane.

From the roof above his fiance's room, Ranma lay back against the shingles, watching the waning crescent of light in the sky. No sound came from the room below save the deep, steady breaths of fourth-stage sleep. That was good. Maybe it wouldn't happen. Maybe tonight she wouldn't dream.

As his eyes began to slowly drift shut, he heard it.

Instantly snapping awake, he swung over the edge, dangling by his feet from the roof's gutter as he peered in through the window.

"No . . . " Akane mumbled "C-can't swim . . . .can't . . . " She begain to flail weakly, arms and legs twitching against some invisible tide, her breath shallowing, as she struggled with her sheets, grasping and twisting linen in helpless white-knuckled fists.

_-Wake her. That's all he had to do._

He didn't move.

_-Had to wake her._

Couldn't move.

_-Just wake her up._

But they wouldn't move - his arms, his legs, his mouth - none of it budged. They'd been solidified as if someone had snuck in, opened his arteries and poured quick-drying cement in them. All he could do was stare into the room, his body achieving perfect petrification as he hung upside-down in the night air.

Akane suddenly snapped up in bed, hand covering her throat, greedily gulping for air as she struggled to regain the equilibrium of her waterlogged mind. For several minutes, she sat there, heavy breaths banging against a constricted chest.

After a moment, she stood and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser. Drawing out her gi, she pulled the top on over her pajamas, and shuffled out towards the dojo, never once spotting the unmoving figure outside her window.

=====----=====-----====----====

"HIYAAA!"

*THOCK*

"Ow . . . " 

The girl dropped to her knees, staring disbelievingly at the slightly bloody knuckles on her right hand, the sting of a series of impending bruises already beginning swell at the joints of her fingers.

In the middle of the first concrete block lay the hint of a hairline fracture - the only evidence, along with a bit of scraped skin, of Akane Tendo's struggle against it.

"What the--?"

Disbelief took a swift left and careened into full-blown humiliation. This couldn't be happening. She might not have the greatest balance, or skill or speed, but she'd be damned if she could't break _one lousy brick_.

She was _used_ to striking dense, immovable objects. She was really, _really good_ at it. After all, she'd had a lot of practice with her fiance.

"That's 'cause your gorilla strength comes from your ki," came a drawl and she turned to the figure leaning casually against the shoji frame.

"Ranma? What are you doing up?"

He ignored her question, instead choosing to saunter towards her kneeling form. "Chicks have trouble externalizing chi. Somethin' to do with body chemistry and stuff." 

"And you learned this in, what, Biology class? You can still do a Moko Takabisha in your other form."

"That's cause it's ME." Akane rolled her eyes. "And I'm still a guy. It's only half power that way though," he admitted.

With a sudden movement she couldn't have prevented even HAD she known, he grasped her hands and ran a thumb over the scraped knuckles of her right. 

"You got some ki focused right about here. Not like a blast, but more glove-like," he murmured thoughtfully, looking at the pale skin that wound tightly around sinew and veins, before turning her right hand over. Akane silently noted the contrast of his rough, calloused hands against her palms.

"Hands of folks who've been beating blocks for ten years are rough and broken. Usually a big layer of scars an' blisters an' dead nerves from all the hittin'." Her arm shivered as he absently traced one finger down the center of her palm from wrist to middle finger. "Your hands should be like mine but they ain't nuthin' like that. They're--" He froze, as if realizing for the first time that the two of them were sitting on the floor of the dojo, in the middle of the night, holding hands. He dropped her like she'd suddenly developed some flesh-eating disease.

"Um, hahaha!" Ranma stupidly draped one hand behind his head. "I mean if you'd been breaking blocks with your head, then I'd believe it, hahah--"

He pretty much expected it. He'd always expected it in that split-nanosecond after the words inevitably exited his mouth from the speech center of his brain that Saotome genetics dictated would never connect to any real thought processes beforehand. Nevertheless, as the countless times before, he didn't see it coming until he found himself facedown in the broken remains of the cinderblock rubble.

"Huh. Obviously not all that macho chick's strength's gone," he mumbled into the shattered bits of concrete.

=====----=====-----====----====

"Jerk," Akane muttered, yanking the bedcovers up to her chin. She sank back against the pillows, and for the first time in so many days, passed the remainder of the waning night dreamless.

=====----=====-----====----====

Whaddaya know, some fluency in Mandarin does come in handy after all:

Taijianniichuan - Spring of Drowned Eunuch.


	6. t.he good, the bad, and the giant mocha ...

**Notes:** So, uh, yeah. After nine months *cough*, here's the first half of chapter six. Second half will be up in about a week or so. 

=====----=====-----====----====

**[1.6]**

=====----=====-----====----====

Carrots, potatoes and onions flew into the air, hovering breathlessly in a millisecond of stasis before gravity protested and drew them back to the earth. The large kitchen knife flashed in that eyeblink of a moment, whispering its intent with a sharp silver tongue, and a medley of perfectly cubed vegetable chunks fell into the large soup pot.

Cologne had always found a certain comfort to cook when she needed to cogitate about son-in-laws and whether she would actually witness the birth of any great-great grandchildren before the passing of the next millenia.

Today, though, she was thinking about an entirely different boy.

Mousse had never exactly been friends with Mukodono, more than eager to see his competition dry up and die at any cost. Yet somehow, as he took great pleasure in pointing out, whatever had transpired with the group back in China had altered the balance.

Oh, he still clung to Shampoo like an overeager little lamprey (after all, old habits are hard to break), but it lacked the smell of desperation, the overt neediness in his pursuit of the fruit of her loins. In fact, he seemed almost confident of the eventual outcome, despite the increasing moodiness and general short --er, *shorter* temper of the latter.

Frankly, Cologne had been sort of missing those rants of "_Die Saotome!_" that shook the rafters of the Nekohanten right before he'd dash off to get his posterier kicked up around his ears. Jerry Springer wasn't this much fun.

The foolish, nearsighted boy may not have been ideal, but he had his good qualities: subserviant, docile, unassuming; overall, a nicely whipped, if woefully nearsighted, package. But somewhere buried under the fawning, obsequious nature lived a hidden layer of resentment towards his heritage and the second-class status based on the chance fall of a Y chromosome. And coming to a country such as Japan didn't help matters any.

Something would have to be done about him. Something or someone.

Absently twirling the kitchen gleaming knife between gnarled fingers, Cologne considered matters for a moment or two longer before decisively tossing it over her shoulder. It landed with a hearty thunk, imbedding point down in the cutting board and quivering there, as she hopped across the room on her staff and picked up the phone.

=====----[** t.he good, the bad, and the giant mocha freeze **]-----=====

"Aren't I the popular one." Nabiki's lazy drawl carried through the mostly darknened recesses of the presently empty restaurant. As she seated herself at the table closest to the pick-up window, her eyes descended upon the large blocky item that made up her dining companion, its mysterious contents covered by a large dropcloth.

An overwhelming curiosity overcame--nah, it didn't have to overcome anything. Where it might have killed those of the feline origin, Nabiki wasn't a cat by any means and besides, it wouldn't be such a big deal just to take a peek. One little cursory glance, that's all, she reasoned, lifting a hand towards the cover.

"Not before we discuss certain matters, child." All one-foot-nine of the Matriarch materialized on the table in front of her, eyeing the girl speculatively as she pushed a bowl of steaming noodles in broth towards her.

"Gotcha." Retracting her arm, Nabiki dipped into the bowl with her chopsticks and polished off a mouthful of noodles before querying, "So. What did you call me here for?"

"I understand you've been getting along well with Mousse."

The middle Tendo sister choked on her soup, sputtering.

"Hey, if you're trying to pawn off--"

"No, no" Cologne held up a withered hand, forestalling impending argument. "It's nothing like that. Well, not completely. Actually, I've grown rather fond of the foolish boy."

"I sense a 'but' coming up."

"But--"

"Hey, can I pick 'em or what?"

"--I'm afraid my great-granddaughter will never marry him the way he is now."

That was enough to effect a moment of pause in Nabiki. "You're saying you actually advocate Mousse as marriage material?"

The old woman shrugged. "Shampoo could do worse. Besides, I think he'll do wonders to change her thinking. She really is a little too young to be so-- what is the term? Anal retentive?"

"Not the word I would use, but go on."

"The boy has a lot of potential. But he also has an innate streak of stubborn individualism that needs to be addressed. I believe your culture coins the phrase as, 'The nail that sticks up gets hammered down?'"

"Oh, I'm more than familiar with that one." The Tendo girl's lip curled slightly. "I don't see why you're talking to me though. If you wanted another Ranma, Genma's the one giving lessons."

Cologne smiled. It was a ghastly thing. "One Mukodono is enough, I think."

"Agreed."

"It does however, take one nail to understand another. Hammer him down or pull the nail out, it doesn't really matter which. As Mousse is presently, he is of no use to me."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Really, Ranma," the words of the youngest Tendo girl wafted in from the street, as three figures strolled through the doors the Nekohanten, warmed by the late afternoon sun. "I seriously doubt that nice old lady is out to get you."

"Then how do you explain this?" The boy-turned-girl grabbed a corner of her sopping shirt and sullenly wrung out water onto the floor.

"It could have happened to anybody."

"You and Nabiki are totally dry," the pigtail girl noted critically to her fiancee.

"So?"

"I was walking between ya two!" She threw up her hands exasperated. "How could she totally miss the both of ya and get only me?"

"Maybe you're just unlucky?" Nabiki piped in helpfully.

Ranma shot her a half-lidded glare.

"Really, really unlucky?" the girl amended.

The dirty look didn't change.

"Really, really, really--?"

"Just can it," the redhead growled. "Just don't say another wAAAAUGH!" she squealed, achieving full body elevation as the tip of a cane lightly traversed up her spine. Spinning around in midair, Ranma landed to face a snickering Cologne.

"You're getting sloppy, Son-in-Law," the old crone admonished with a cluck. "Allowing me to sneak up on you like that."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Here, let me get those for you, Shampoo," offered the nearsighted Amazon, as the object of his desire entered the kitchen from the rear, shoulder-pressing a tray of soup bowls and plates stacked nearly four feet high.

Shampoo nodded and was just about to hand over her burden when a distinctly high-pitched squeal broke out from the main room, causing both their heads to whip towards the wall that separated them from the dining area.

That scream! She would recognize it anywhere! It was a comforting, familiar sound that spoke of innocence, of happier, glorious times when Shampoo had chased a certain silly boy-turned-girl all over the Asian continent.

"Airen!" she chirped happily before dashing outside, leaving Mousse to blink at the tray full of dishes spinning in midair. He blinked again. Then his eyes widened. With a yelp, the Amazon threw himself under the falling tower of china.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Nabiki Tendo," Cologne began, when a loud crash emerged from the kitchen. "Have you given our previous discussion any more thought?" Three pairs of perplexed eyes focused on the middle Tendo sister.

"I did." Nabiki pulled out a well-worn copy of the Amazon handbook from her backpack, licked the tip of her index finger and flipped to a page rife with an assortment of translations scribbled into the borders and gutters. "But first, I have a couple of questions concerning certain details of Joketsuzoku law."

Mousse casually strolled out into the dining room, dusting off the front of his robe and purposefully made a beeline for the front door.

"What was that noise, Mr. Part-time?"

"Noise? What noise? I didn't hear any noise," the Amazon babbled. "Even if there was some noise, it probably was nothing. Nothing at all. I'll be taking a walk now."

Cologne eyeballed him dubiously, but decided it wasn't worth the effort and turned back to Nabiki. "Your question?"

The Tendo girl pointed to a passage in the book. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Mousse here beat the crap out of Ranma's female form the first time he showed up here?"

The bespectacled boy paused, nearly at his goal, and against his better instincts turned back towards the group. "Why yes, I--"

"Hey!" came the protest of one from the peanut gallery.

"Before he changed back, I believe Mr. Part Time had the definite advantage."

"And didn't Ranma's female form kick the daylights out of Shampoo back in the Amazon village?"

"What Greedy Girl is trying to say?" Shampoo didn't like where this talk was heading, especially since stupid Duck Boy was beginning to giggle.

"Well, if Mousse defeated Ranma-chan--"

"HEY! HE DID Nn--!" A hand clapped over Ranma's mouth and she scowled sideways at Akane.

Nabiki swiveled towards the redhead. "You're saying he didn't beat you?"

The pigtailed girl-at-the-moment managed to shove her fiancee's hand away. "Are you kidding?" came the blurt as ego momentarily overrode common sense. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Akane slapping a palm to her forehead.

The handbook snapped shut with a definitive (and ominous) clap as Nabiki turned back to Cologne. "So what happens when an outsider female defeats an Amazon male?"

"Uh, hey . . . " Ranma was finally suspecting the conversation's ultimate destination.

The old Amazon tilted her head thoughtfully. "Same thing. If a female outsider is strong enough to defeat a male of the Joketsuzoku, then we definitely want her within the tribe."

"Then you know, as Ranma said, she did defeat Mousse . . . and since she's a girl half the time, shouldn't she also have an equal claim to him as well?"

"WHAT?!" came the shouts in Dolby Surround.

Mousse's eyes bulged and he scampered away from the redhead as said girl-at-the-moment turned a strange shade of kiwi.

"You know, you have a very good point." Cologne rubbed her grizzled chin, then turned to Ranma who was doubled over busily retching into a corner. "Very well, if you won't marry Shampoo, you can marry Mousse instead. Daughter-in-Law."

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed the pigtailed girl as she blindly ran in circles around the Nekohanten, hands plastered to the sides of her face in favorable impression of a Munch painting.

Shampoo, torn between unmitigated horror and sudden, mad laughter, merely opted to look ill.

"Oneechan!" hissed Akane. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I can take care of this easily," waved the older girl. 

"H-h-h-h-how?" stammered Ranma through chattering teeth.

"Ten thousand yen."

"You hate me," moaned the pigtailed girl. "You really do hate me!"

"Nabiki!" The youngest Tendo daughter screeched.

"Kidding! Kidding!" The accused raised her hands in self-defense. "But first, little sis, I need some advice. Would you suggest one this big?" She held her hands a foot apart in front of her. "Or this big?" The distance between her palms doubled in size.

The other girl's eyebrows knit together. "Wha-?"

Mousse, having tuned out the entire conversation right after the "Daughter-in-Law" part, spent the interim attempting to make himself as insignificant as possible behind a potted plant. Squatting on the ground, head buried in his arms and preoccupied with whimpering "Thisisnothappeningthisisnothappening" over and over, it was quite understandable why he didn't notice Nabiki saunter up behind and tap him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Duck Boy."

" . . . thisisnothappeningthisisnothappening . . . "

"Heeey, Mouuuuusieeeeee . . . "

" . . . I'mgonnawakeupanditsallgonnabejustabadbaddreamyeahthatstheticket . . . "

"Oooooooooh, Mouuuuuuuuussieeeeeee-chan . . . "

"Would you *mind* not calling me--Huh?" As his thoughts broke out of their mental loop, he looked up just in time to see a large, ominous shadow descend upon him.

A long group silence descended. 

Crickets chirped. 

Two tumbleweeds blew by.

"You know," Akane finally intoned. "That was kind of a weird sound."

Ranma nodded. "Like broken pottery or somethin'."

Shampoo curiously toed the unconscious Amazon's leg and was rewarded with several crunchy sounds. Sliding her foot under his calf, she shook harder and shards from a former teacup tinkled out onto the floor.

"Be sure to tell him the happy news when he wakes up," Nabiki motioned at the unconscious figure whose flattened cranium lay under the two-foot head of a hammer. Angling her index and thumb into a pistol-pose, she blew imaginary smoke from the tip before casually strolling out the front doors of the Nekohanten.

"Well," Cologne blinked. "That took care of it, I suppose." 

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"No! It ain't happenin'," growled the pigtailed boy, from six feet above the sidewalk. "You're just gonna get in the way like last time!"

"If I hadn't 'gotten in the way'," Akane snapped from below.  "You would have ended up Soylent Green for Saffron!" 

"I coulda handled it!". Ranma's stride grew longer as he stalked forward on his wire perch. "You're the one that almost got yerself killed!"

The Tendo girl held her breath and counted to seventeen as she ran to catch up with her fiance. Any more and she was going to burst a blood vessel.

"Ranma--"

"I don't care what the old bat says." He paused, absently fingering the ring on his left hand. "You ain't comin' along this time."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

It was a strange, ancient object that Cologne held up under the fluorescent lights, sitting so inauspiciously in the center of her withered palm. Upon closer inspection, the design appeared to be of a black snake swallowing its tail, its eye a bright obsidian core in contrast to the muted ash body. Unwrapping its form, she withdrew the tail from its mouth, its end tapering into a fine point.

The Matriarch then gestured to Akane. "Give me your hand, girl."

The sting of a pinprick later, a bubble of red welled on the girl's index finger, and with the tail of the ouroboros, Cologne drew the blood into a ring, until the snake's eye glowed the same bloody crimson that stained the youngest Tendo daughter's fingertip.

"Now yours, Son-in-Law."

He held out his left hand, and the snake wrapped around his middle finger, mouth re-clamping over its tail. The blood-red eye flashed and Ranma dropped to his ass as a sudden wave of vertigo slapped him upside the head.

Akane whipped accusingly towards the Matriarch. "What did you do to him?"

Cologne sauntered to Ranma's side of the table and peered down at the boy sprawled flat on the floor. "This ring applies the same fundamental principle as the Happi Goen-satsu. The circle will drain your ki, Mukodono, a little at a time, but on a continual basis. In essence, you will be providing the 'back-up power' for her. This should give the girl a little extra time, enough for my great-granddaughter and the both of you to find and destroy the spring."

She hopped back as the boy pulled himself up, using the table's edge for leverage.

"Hey, I never said she was comin' along!"

"Can you think of a better way of locating the Akaneniichuan, Son in Law?"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Looking down, the boy realized he was absently rotating the ring around and around his finger and dropped both arms. 

"It don't matter. I'll think of something." He glanced at the sidewalk, at the canal, at the rooftops and trees, anywhere but where she stood.

"Look, it's like Cologne said," Akane reasoned. "I know where the spring is. We go to China, find it, destroy it and come home. Simple enough."

The pigtailed boy finally turned, standing with his back to her, a figure perched so still on the fence, he could have been painted against the backdrop of Nerima's sky. When he finally spoke, it was soft and stained with cynicism.

"Ain't you figured it out yet? Nuthin's that simple."

Akane watched as he bent slightly and leapt off the canal fence. Hopping this way and that off the roofs of the nearby houses, he eventually disappeared out of her line of sight.

"But why do you have to make them more complicated?" she asked plaintively.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Mousse groaned as consciousness slowly returned to him. Lying face-up in the dim light, he stared up at the assortment of shadows dancing off the ceiling, wondering what he'd done to get Shampoo's ire up this time. He couldn't recall her ever hitting him this hard before. Gingerly, he sat up, rubbing his head, then winced at a bump approximately the size of his fist that had taken up residence on his cranium. The damp towel plastered to his forehead fell into his lap with a wet _-plop-_.

Fumbling around for glasses, he finally pulled a pair out of his sleeves and stuffed them on his face, before stumbling downstairs.

"Ow. Ow. Ow." Every step seemed to jar his headache even worse, and he paused on the stair to catch his breath. A strange, annoying song was spinning on the Victorola, flooding the Nekohanten with its bubbly upbeat tune.

In the middle of the main floor, Shampoo and Cologne were doing some weird hand and hip gyrations, dancing what appeared to be--

"Hey . . . Macarena!" the purple-haired Amazon chirped.

"Shampoo?"

The love of his life turned and glanced up the stairs. Then, to his shock, favored him with a brilliant smile filled with such affection, his heart momentarily stopped. Returning the smile cautiously, he stumbled the rest of the way down the staircase, headache all but forgotten.

When he reached the bottom, the Amazon girl hugged him hard. "Shampoo so happy!" 

"Er, I'm glad." Yes! he crooned inwardly. He must have done something right! Something that had finally turned his beloved's looks of scorn into the love he always knew she had for him. He was da man! 

"Congratulations on your impending nuptials, Mr. Part-time," the old goat snickered at his stupid, self-congratulatory grin.

Then it began to return in pieces.

_A cheshire smile._

His grin began to falter.

'_Oh, Moussie-chan . . ._ '

And a very large, blunt instrument.

The grin disappeared.

"Shampoo is so, so glad! Mousse go bother Greedy Girl now!" 

Well, yeah, he fainted again.


	7. t.he good, the bad, and the giant mocha ...

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====   
**[1.6b]**   
=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Few things brought joy to his life. One of them was the Art, the other, food. Ranchan, love the guy, had never been complicated. That being said, nothing was quite as disenheartening to Ukyo as the sight of him slumped at the counter, picking disconsolately the okonomiyaki in front him.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, after nearly being bowled over as he bounced randomly from fence to rooftop like a rubber ball on amphetamines. She'd taken one look at him and promptly dragged him back to her restaurant, determined to wipe the anvil-cloud of gloom from his face. 

Food would cheer him up. Food always cheered him up. Especially her food. 

Food would alleviate her guilt.

However, seeing him here, now, caught up in the grip of something that even her famous cooking couldn't possibly hope to mitigate, brought all of her fears, everything that she'd dreaded to the foreground. Did he hate her so much now that he couldn't even bear the sight of her cooking?

"Ranchan--I--" she began. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You know that, don't you? I'd never hurt you or, or even her._ A thousand apologies, a thousand excuses formed in her head. Each one of them stuck in her throat.

"Do--do you think it would have been better if--" Ranma's voice sounded tinny, almost tired as the chopsticks tracing endless figure-eight patterns over his plate. "If you never knew me?"

If she'd never known Ranma. 

Well, that would have been simple, wouldn't it? Ukyo pictured her life, and the possibilities that resided within, had her father never crossed paths with a wayward fraud of a martial artist and his son. 

Happy. Growing up a normal girl, quietly in Kansai, helping her father at his yatai. Then, one day she would have met him, the boy tied the other end of the long, red thread. Perhaps it would be that smile, or even a certain look that would cause her heart to suddenly flutter as she unconsciously painted a big heart onto his ebi-tamayaki. Their fingers would 'accidentally' brush as she handed him his order, and in his eyes, she would see something more. Something shy and starry-eyed. Something passionate. Perhaps the promise of a future.

No broken engagement. No honor and dowry lost along with eleven of the longest years of her life. 

If she'd never known him.

She smiled. "Of course not, sweetie."

"Thanks Ucchan. Nice 'ta know somebody don't think I'm nuthin' but a . . . a . . . "

_Ucchan._

If he'd been paying closer attention, he might have heard a *click* as functions 'Guilt' and 'Self-recrimination' booted offline in pre-programmed override. A familiar subroutine spun into action in the okonomiyaki chef's CPU. Processes mental and otherwise worked furiously overtime, calculating and recalculating the specific import of her fiance's every word and inflection.
    
    
    Private Sub WhosYourCuteIinazuke()
    Dim Ranchan;
    IF {
     Ranchan NOT = like being in Nerima;
     OR
     Ranchan NOT = want to live at the Tendo Dojo;
     AND
     Ranchan + Akane == problems? (Error==1130);
     }
    then (explosive okonomiyaki == OK);
    ELSE {
     Ranchan NOT = unhappy;
     AND
     Ranchan NOT = confiding in her;
     }
     1130="Uncute fiancee";
     RESULT == Ranchan
    END IF
    END Sub
    

Of course, any good debugger would have instantly spotted one or two errors in the logic, but, really, who wrote perfect code? Bugs? No such things as bugs. Merely unimplemented features. And mighty cute features they were, buster, so don't be talking about any errors to this okonomiyaki chef, hear?

And really, outside of the very, very rare bout of homicidal mania (and who _hasn't_ had one or two of those?) Ukyo Kuonji had been functioning perfectly fine with her particular design for a good deal of time now, with few ill effects. After all, it is entirely possible to survive, flourish and even thrive in a prosperous life with slightly flawed programming.

Just look at Windows.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Nabiki Tendo," the Amazon male droned unenthusiastically at the figure before him. "According to Joket--jo--" A deep, wavery sigh. "According to Joketsuzoku law, you have defeated me, and thus hold all claims to the rights of marriage. Let us now seal the bonds with a -a-a- . . . k--kiss. Wife." At the last word, his eyes snapped shut and a shudder ran through his form. Suddenly they flew open again, outrage burning in their irises. "Though you may have defeated me through vile and deceptive means, my heart shall always belong to another! So conquer, ravage, use my body for whatever illicit purposes you have in mind, but mark this -- you shall never, NEVER possess my soul!" He then paused in the middle of his tirade with a frown. The Tendo girl seemed to have gotten taller.

"Wow," a voice finally blew out from behind him. "And I thought Ranma had a world-class ego."

Snatching the glasses down from atop his head, he peered at the hat and coat hanging off the rack before him. A self-conscious moment passed before he whipped around to the girl at her desk who was watching him with a look of beetle-browed, agape incredulousness stapled to her face.

"While I'm sure my coat rack will be crying itself to sleep for weeks on end," Nabiki drawled, smoothing out the three hairs that had sprung out on the back of her head during the Amazon's rant. "I wouldn't flatter yourself too much, Silky. Cologne asked me to do this."

His upper lip curled in outrage. "I KNEW that dried up old monkey was behind this somehow."

"Au contraire. The Matriarch and I had a little chat. She obviously doesn't completely discount you as husband material for Shampoo." His nonplused expression brought a shrug forward. "Hey, I don't know what she sees in you either, but apparently you have more redeeming qualities than the other guy."

"Baboons have more redeeming qualities than Saotome."

"I wouldn't call you a baboon. You're at least a chimp, Mousseolini."

" . . . I really don't like that one either."

"I'm running out of options here, Mister Moussetoffeles."

A large bead of sweat hung off the Amazon's forehead like the sword of Damocles. "Can we just go back to the first one?"

"I knew you'd see it my way, Moussie-chan."

"Why are you doing this to me?" came the broken whisper as he slumped against the doorframe, shoulders sagging, wringing his hands in agitation. Then, a votive candle lit into position above his head (and just as quickly piffled out), and he pointed at her with an accusatory shaking finger. "Oh! OH! I know! Revenge! You're mad because I won the last game using the Saavedra position, isn't it?" Abandoning all pretense of dignity, the Chinese boy fell to his knees, sniveling in supplication. "IswearIswearIswear I won't do it again!"

Nabiki's palm bounced off her forehead. "Will you get a grip? I'm trying to offer you something you never had before." 

"I told you, I'm not interested in--"

"A chance at _Shampoo_, loverboy." Mousse blinked. Then rapidly shuffled to his feet. "But in order for that to happen," she lifted her index finger. "Some changes need to be made."

Well-founded distrust burned in this expression. "And why would you help me?"

"Easy. You win the girl, you and the entire Red Invasion go back to that little backwater bog you call home and leave all of us the hell alone. Sounds like a reasonable trade-off to everyone involved."

He snorted. "That couldn't possibly be your only motivation."

Hmm. She'd forgotten that not all of Ranma's friends were as stupid as he was. As he'd find out eventually. . . 

"Okay, I did have another motive."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

A lonely gull swooped over the Tendo dojo, its cry of solitude echoing across the sky of Nerima at dusk.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

The Amazon stared far, far off into the distance, his splintered self-esteem so elegantly displayed by the tragically pale and trembling wireframe that housed a mere ghost of his former pride. Finally, Mousse blinked once, mouth open slightly, as his sandpaper tongue ran over suddenly parched lips. "Mere words could not possibly convey the magnitude of my distress."

"Well, at least you found out, eh?" Nabiki smirked. "But seriously, much as I find this matter of ownership amusing, and believe me, I *like* owning things, I'm giving you a choice. You can follow Shampoo and spend another year as her personal doormat and 'kick me' sign, or you can change your situation."

Mousse shuffled his feet, a toe idly poking at the floor paneling. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

The Tendo girl casually buffed her nails on the front of her blouse. "Of course. All those ramen deliveries must be mentally fatiguing." One sour look later, she added, "Just don't take too long, Silky. Offer's only good for a limited time."

As the boy shuffled dazedly off, she shook her head, muttering, "Like trying to talk to tapioca."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Hey Mousse."

The Amazon only nodded in return as he shambled by her down the hallway.

Akane turned, mildly puzzled as he walked into the doorjamb, cursed and then felt his way out. Deciding it wasn't worth pursuing, she continued on to Nabiki's room, where she found her sister cross-legged in bed, idly moving flat wooden markers around on a modified chessboard. 

"How is the, uh--" She gestured.

The older girl shrugged.

"I win one, the duck wins another, or we stalemate or draw." She then grinned. "Give me a little while, though and I'll beat the robe off him." Then leaned casually leaned back. "But you're not here to talk about board games, are you?"

"Not exactly," Akane admitted, slightly uncomfortable. "I want to ask you about Mousse's and your, um, situation."

Nabiki drifted dreamily into space. "I never thought it would happen . . . " And sighed. "Such a strange emotion."

Akane stared at her.

The brown-haired girl gripped her pillow into a fierce hug. "Who knew love could come so unexpectedly?"

And stared.

She tilted her head, wounded. "Can't a girl develop sudden, overwhelming feelings for someone?"

Still staring.

"You know, if you stay like that, it'll freeze in place."

"Oneechan," the youngest Tendo finally spoke. "One day, you're going to go too far."

Nabiki dropped all pretense and stuck her tongue out. "You're no fun anymore."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Akane resisted the urge to beat her head against the door. "How did Cologne manage to persuade you into--" Her right hand twisted and floundered. "--The Mousse thing."

"Let's just say the old biddy offered me a really sweet deal."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Don't get me wrong. While I believe your reasons for wanting to dump Duck Boy into my lap are perfectly valid and interesting." She leaned forward, eye to eye with the matriarch perched on the table. "the more important question is, what do *I* get out of it?"

"Mr. Part Time gets to be your property for a little while." Nabiki rolled her eyes and yawned. "Don't be so eager to dismiss him. Amazon males are quite versed in the domestic arts - cooking, cleaning, housekeeping, everything an aspiring businesswoman needs at home."

"And this interests me because . . . ? You've just described everything Kasumi already does."

"Were you planning to live at the Tendo dojo for the rest of your life?" The girl frowned, and the Matriarch pressed foward. "Mousse also learns quickly - very quickly. Plus, as you've already noticed, he's a pretty good chess player. Look how swiftly he learned Japanese. Anything you teach him - business, stocks, figures, extortion, he'll pick up and master in a very short time. Plus entrance exams are also coming up soon, aren't they? How do you plan to handle the preparations for that and your . . . business . . . as well? Isn't it about time you learned to delegate?"

Nabiki still looked unconvinced. Worse, she was looking bored.

"Isn't that what you're trying to do right now?"

The old crone cackled. "See, you're learning already. The Nekohanten and it's facilities will also be at your full disposal, of course." Noting the girl begin to waver slightly, she went on. "And, you may find that having me as your advocate could prove worthwhile, perhaps in future circumstances."

Nabiki paused at that. It could be quite advantageous if the Matriarch of the Joketsuzoku owed her a favor.

Cologne placed her final gambit in place. "And just to let you know, something you might find very interesting came in on shipment today." With a flourish, she lifted the cover off the mystery item on the counter.

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

Akane's jaw dropped.

"_An_ _espresso machine_? You caved in his head for an espresso machine?"

"Not *just* any espresso machine." Nabiki held up a brochure, an eager glint radiating in her grin. "A Capresso C3000 Automatic Espresso Machine and Coffee Center with dual heat exchange, automatic milk frothing, and programmable coffee dosing system."

"O-kay." The younger girl frowned. "But doesn't this mean you have to marry Mousse?"

Nabiki scoffed. "You mean like how hermaphrodite boy has to marry Shampoo?"

"I guess you have a point there."

"The real point of the matter is, Cologne asked a favor of me, and I'm helping her with it."

"Out of the goodness of your heart."

A lopsided grin. "Right."

"And Mousse is agreeing to all this?"

Nabiki shrugged. "What he thinks is irrelevant. Hey, no worries," she waved at the crinkle of her sister's frown. "He'll come around eventually." Her gaze settled upon the bandage on Akane's neck and narrowed.

The other girl's hand flew up to the spot, self-consciously covering it. "It's nothing. Just a little cut."

"Huh. Is that anything like the whole being just a little dead in China part?"

Akane's eyes darted up to her sister's, then dropped. "Oneechan--"

"Before you say anything, I just want to let you know: I don't hate the guy. I don't even dislike him. Much. I mean, there's something disgustingly wholesome about Ranma, despite his little Casanova tendencies. But he's going to get you killed. Again, I mean. And, hey, not acceptable here."

"Don't you think deciding what's acceptable should be my decision?" The girl ran a frustrated hand through her short-cropped hair. "Father expects me to take over the dojo. Both he and Mr. Saotome expect me to marry Ranma right now. Mrs. Saotome wants a litter of heirs. Kuno wants to take me away from all of this. And you. I know you're trying to protect me, but. . . but everyone wants to control my life, and no one ever asks me what *I* want. "

She snorted. "Have you ever thought it was because you can't take care of yourself? In case you've forgotten, little sis, I spent a week as the official so-called fiancee. It certainly opened my eyes to the type of company Ranma keeps."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not good enough!" The younger girl flinched slightly under Nabiki's hardened gaze. "Face up to reality, Akane, you can't measure up to any of them in a fight. If any of the others decide to end this little game, you'll be dead. Finito. The end. Fat lady singeth!"

The older girl expected anger, loud, vehement protests of 'I'm a martial artist too,' her sister's stubborn refusal to acknowledge reality, obliviously happy in her little bubble of deluded self-sufficiency.

Instead what she got was:

"Don't you think I know that? I'm not stupid, Nabiki. I know I'm nowhere as good as Shampoo. Maybe not even Ukyo or Kodachi. I know I can't cook or sew or . . . but . . . " _I'm dying anyway. I might already be dead. Does it really matter?_ "I'm fed up, Nabiki. Tired of everyone doing what they think is best for me. I want my life back. On my own terms, and I'm not going to give up on . . . not after . . . " her mouth snapped shut. "Not after this long," she finally amended.

"You're serious. You're going to go through with this engagement farce."

Akane reddened, but slowly nodded.

"And if I don't agree?"

"Oneechan . . . butt out!" Akane pleaded. "Let it go. Please. You have no idea how hard it's been for him."

Oh, she was stupid. Her little sister was stupid. And idealistic. And this whole stupid arrangement just reeked of 'I am time bomb, hear me tick', because Saotome was nothing except bad for her health. And yet. Akane with that stubborn set of her jaw, face mulishly set in resolve mode, Akane trying to take back control of her life. She might be a fool, but somehow Nabiki had trouble finding fault with that.

She sighed. "Then what are you going to do about the others?"

Akane blinked. "Huh?"

"Your fiance's going to seriously hurt someone, unless you do something."

"Ranma would never--"

"You mean he wouldn't have tried to pop off Kuno-chan's head like a bottlecap? It sure looked like that this morning."

The girl shifted nervously. "He overreacted. He wouldn't--"

"Do you honestly think he wouldn't kill someone?" came the interruption.

Nothing in the way of response. Akane was suddenly preoccupied with the fingers folders in her lap as stony silence descended. Her sister watched her, tilted her head, then leaned back against the pillow, gaze turned to the ceiling. As Nabiki's eyes slipped shut, she let out a long, slow breath.

"God. He already has, hasn't he?"

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"So, uh." Ranma nervously cleared his throat, trying to make casual conversation with the girl across the counter from him. Her face was cupped in her left hand, a dreamy, starry-eyed expression in her gaze. And she'd been like that for the past fifteen minutes, all nodding and smiling and 'Uh huh, Ranchan.' And it was getting kind of weird.

"How's business been?" Harmless enough. Right?

The dreamy look faltered, confused, and then dissipated with a frown. "Your parents poached my waitress. I didn't realize I'd miss his help so much until lunch hour."

"Er. Sorry 'bout that." Backpedaling now. "Mom gets kinda single-minded about certain stuff and oyaji kinda took Konatsu on as a project." 

The slight frown tranformed into a full-faced scowl as Ukyo straightened up. "Genma's got something coming if he thinks he can get around the engagement with this lame plan."

Ranma leapt up. "No! It ain't like that at all. You know how my mom is about 'manly-men' and all. Pop'n Mister Tendo are just helpin'!" Backpedaling at high speed, so fast, he was practically running in reverse.

"So they *are* trying to build 'Natsu up to weasel out of this. Why I could kill that damn panda--" 

Blank. Completely blank. The boy's brain served up the blue screen of death as Ukyo launched into full mode rant.

"--marinate him for three days and then slowly cook him over an open fire--"

"Igottaleaverealsoon," he suddenly blurted out. "Goin' to China. Taking care of some stuff with Shampoo an' Akane." And maybe one day, he could just shut up.

"China. You. All alone." With each punctuation, Ukyo's eyebrows shot up higher and higher into her hairline. "With the both of them!"

"Well, it ain't like it's gonna be-- hey where're you going?"

Several minutes later the okonomiyaki chef came back with a large pack and began picking out various utensils and cooking materials from behind the counter.

"Ucchan." Agitated fingers ran through his bangs in vexation and trepidation. "This ain't a vacation!"

"Then I'd better pack a few extra weapons as well." She selected a fine set of shuriken-like spatulas out of the large collection of shuriken-like spatulas from the drawer where all the shuriken-like spatulas lay.

Ranma hopped forward in coiled exasperation. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course, Ranchan. I always listen to you." And she smiled, oh, so sweetly. "But you're still not leaving me behind this time."

=====----=====-----====----====----=====-----=====

"Shampoo?" Mousse knocked, then stepped into the room where she knelt, organizing the contents of her pack.

"Back to Jusenkyo," came the reply, the Amazon not looking up.

He nodded. "I'll get packing."

"No."

The boy paused. "I don't under--"

"Nothing to understand." She tramped down the stairs with him following behind. "You stay here with Hibachan. Take care of Nekohanten. I go back with Airen and Violent Girl."

A laugh, something sharp and bitter. "I should have known. It's always Saotome, isn't it? Just what do you see in him? Because I really don't understand."

"Really, Mousse, are you that dense?" In the storeroom, Shampoo picked up several hard buns and a slab of salted meat, unconsciously slipping back into Mandarin. "He's beautiful--"

"Short."

"Arrogant--"

"This is a good thing?"

"Strong, brave and courageous--"

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to him, pinning her with an unfocused gaze. "And he doesn't love you. On a good day he barely tolerates you. Most of the time he just thinks you're a pest. You were there on Jusendo with us. You can't pretend you didn't see what happened. He will NEVER care about you the way he does the Tendo girl, NEVER the way," he took a breath to steady himself. "The way I do."

Shampoo looked at him sadly, then turned away, tying the ends of a purple handkerchief around her rations. And softly, so soft, he almost didn't hear it. "I know."

"Then why? Why are you chasing after something you know you'll never obtain?"

"Why are you?" She said it with such finality, he could almost hear the click and yet there was no joy in it, none of the starry-eyed, exuberant energy she displayed whenever she glomped onto the object of her affections. "I have a responsibility to my airen. And so do you. To yours."

"Nabiki's not--"

"According to law she is. Do not dishonor yourself further by refusing to acknowledge it. And do not dishonor me as well."

"And what honor does Saotome bestow on you by stringing you and countless other women along to feed his ego?"

"It's the Amazon way, Mousse. Our way, plain and simple. Do you think that if I could change it, I wouldn't do so in an instant?"

"Then why don't you? It's not impossible. It's just law, Shampoo. There are dozens of loopholes for this thing. If you wanted out--"

The lavender haired girl lifted her head. "Maybe because it IS law! You may not give a damn about them, but I DO. I was the strongest, Mousse. I was the best. And I was defeated twice. Law tells me that I must marry my better. Why? Because the Amazons are the strongest. We are the best. And that is what I am. An Amazon. Now, tell me Mousse, are you a man or are you an Amazon?"

His hands dropped from her shoulders to fall limply at his sides, as she shrugged out of his grasp. He watched the blur of her silently ascend the stairs, purple satchel dangling from her fingers, never turning to face him, not even when she spoke as she reached the top of the second floor. "And that's why you'll never understand."

Then she was gone.

When he'd first followed her from China, he reasoned it would take only a few days to convince his beloved of his devotion. The few days had lengthened into weeks, then months. Then over a year had passed, and here he was, no further now than when he'd first left the village in pursuit with the naive, nearsighted dream that love, not battle would conquer her heart -- damn all the rules.

A year ago Mousse had been foolish and optimistic. Now, he discovered, he was still foolish. And he envisioned himself in that endless circle of Shampoo chasing Ranma, of him chasing Shampoo. 'Round and 'round they went, chasing each other on that mobile, another few weeks, another few months, another few years. . . 

He stumbled into the unlit recesses of the Nekohanten's kitchen and fumbled blindly for the phone, dialing the numbers by touch.

When the other side picked up, he choked out, "I accept your offer."

"Took you long enough," Nabiki's voice returned.

He hung up the phone, leaning back heavily against the wall. After a moment, he slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands.

=====----=====-----====----====   
=====----=====-----====----====

**Next: Dosey-do **

_"Maybe I'm just so utterly repulsive that no woman, let alone Shampoo would tolerate me." _

_"Naw man, it's not that at all. Shampoo's just. . . I dunno. Fixated. Yeah, that's the word." _

_The Amazon sighed. "You're just saying that." _

_"I mean it! You're a pretty good lookin' guy an' all, got a decent head, and some loyalty. If I were a chick I'd-- I mean if I were into guys-- No--wait. If you were a chick--" _

_Ranma finally decided on silence, realizing that the conversation was steering into bizarre, bizarre waters that no one could dig themselves out of without it turning Yaoi. _

_Uncomfortable silence descended like a big, fat omelet. After a long, long moment, Mousse finally cleared his throat. _

_"Saotome." _

_"Yeh?" _

_"Let's never, ever go there again." _

_"You got it."_


End file.
